For The Republic And For Us
by MichaelCygnus
Summary: A small unit of Triarii Protectors train for a war everyone is certain will never come, for The Republic is stable, and Stone's legacy has insured peace for an entire generation. But a sudden darkness may ask the Triarii to face demons no one saw coming.
1. Chapter 1

_David Lear Republic Army Base_

_Murchison City, Murchison_

_January 15, 3131, Local Spring_

Jarome Keller smiled as the high walls of David Lear Republic Army Base hove into view. She had passed her initial exams, and been accepted into the Third Triarii Protectors of the Republic Army. She'd received all her basic training, and today was her first day as a proper MechWarrior Candidate.

The bus she was riding wheezed and rattled to a halt, and she shot to her feet, grabbing her go-bag and hustling off the bus with the rest of the new candidates. The next hour was organized military mayhem, and Jarome had her housing assignment, training schedule, and had filled out all her necessary paperwork.

She climbed down the stairs and found the office of her instructor, Captain Michael O'Malley. His door was open, so she knocked on the doorframe and paused, waiting for an answer.

"Enter," was the reply, the voice a deep, resonant baritone, warm and rich, a commander's voice.

Jarome entered the office, snapping to attention with a crisp salute. "Sir, MechWarrior Candidate Jarome Keller reporting for duty!"

Facing her, a tall man uncoiled himself from an office chair and crisply returned the salute. He was a broad-shouldered man, and his body language proclaimed him to be a veteran soldier. As he brought his hand down, he began to speak; "Candidate Keller, yes, I've been expecting you. I'm Captain Michael O'Malley, and I will be responsible for your transformation into a MechWarrior." He reached down and picked up a simple black duffel bag and handed it to her. "Come on, Jarome. Let's get you suited up and see what you're made of." He brushed by the startled Jarome, and walked briskly down the hallway, his boots soundless on the tile.

Jarome scrambled after him, catching up to the Captain just as he stepped inside the elevator. She considered talking, saying something, anything, to break the silence, but she couldn't think of anything that wouldn't be idiotic. She was spared, however, as the elevator pinged and opened. She stayed right next to O'Malley, until he gestured to a door to the side. "There you are, Jarome. Go in, get changed, and head out the back door, I'll be waiting for you there."

"Yes, Captain," Jarome said, coming to attention with a soft snap of boot heels. She ducked through the door, found an unoccupied locker, and pressed her thumb to the lock. It clicked open, and she set her duffel bag down on the expanded-metal mesh bench behind her. She slipped out of her duty uniform, right down to her underwear, and opened the duffel. It held a new Warrior suit, an expansion of the Coolant Vest that had been a staple of MechWarriors everywhere for centuries; it was a skintight network of coolant tubes encased in a Nomex fire-retardant shell that simultaneously cool her in battle and protect her from fire, a real life-saver in battle.

Sealing it over her chest, she momentarily wondered how O'Malley had gotten a suit so perfectly fitted to her before they ever met, and shrugged. It didn't matter, really. Next she pulled a survival vest, a thin mesh covering festooned with pockets for all kinds of gear: emergency rations, a radio, flashlight, and flares, matches, first aid kit, everything she would need if she ever had the bad luck to be forced from her 'Mech.

The next piece of equipment was a simple web belt that she slung snugly around her slender waist; from the right side an equally slender laser pistol hung down. She quickly secured its tie-down, and bent to seal on her boots. Standing, she slowly, reverently pulled the last object from the duffel.

It was plain white, with Republic burgundy and gray stripes over the crown, but it was the culmination of hundreds of years of Human invention and determination. Through this one piece of equipment, mankind had become the master of the BattleMech; it was a neurohelmet. She carefully cradled the helmet in her arms and stepped out the rear door of the locker room and emerged into the 'Mechbay.

O'Malley, standing next to the railing at the end of the elevated walkway Jarome found herself on, turned and nodded gravely to her. He was clad in a burgundy Warrior suit exactly the same to hers, save for the Triarii Protectors patch on his left arm and a heavy slugthrower slung low on his thigh. He carried a neurohelmet of his own, identical in model to hers, but his carried a beautifully painted phoenix. He gestured to a short, burly man next to him. "Right then, Candidate Keller. In bay six is a CLN-7V _Chameleon_; follow Sergeant Galan here," the burly man nodded to Jarome. "And mount up. We'll take the field and see how you do outside the simulators."

"Yes, Captain!" Jarome followed Galan closely and reached the _Chameleon_ without incident. She stared at the huge machine, awe and pride swelling in her chest. The _Chameleon_ really wasn't anything all that special, just a training machine, but it was still fifty tons of armored mayhem. It mounted a Defiance large laser in the right arm, along with a Defiance B3M medium laser. Another B3M was mounted in the left arm, above the battlefist, and three small lasers teamed up with two machine guns in the center torso. It was fast, well armed and armored, and capable of leaping up to 180 meters in a single bound.

"Go on up, ma'am, and strap in," Galan said. "The neural interface has been switched to an open setting, so you'll be able to plug right in with no problems." He patted her on the shoulder. "And good luck!"

"Thank you, sergeant," Jarome replied, trading salutes with the man. She climbed carefully over the _Chameleon'_s shoulder and slid through the hatch, settling into the ejection seat and pulling the hatch closed above her. Situating herself, she quickly plugged in her coolant lines for her Warrior suit and strapped in. Once she was ready, she carefully slipped the neurohelmet over her head for the first time. It was roughly bowl shaped, with a wide visor that would seal with the rest of the helmet once she engaged, but for now rested on the forehead of the helmet, safely out of the way. She locked the collar of her jumpsuit to the base of the helmet, and secured the air hose that would blow fresh, cool, moist air for her to breathe and the neural lines that would supply her own sense of balance to the machine.

Her head swam as the banks of neural receptors in the helmet synchronized her equilibrium with her 'Mech's gyros. A rush of euphoria washed over her, and she wrapped her hands around hands around the controls and settled her feet on the foot pedals as the dizziness passed. Opening a COM channel, she smiled and spoke: "This is Keller, ready to move out; requesting departure clearance."

O'Malley's voice crackled back over her headset. "Very good, Jarome; come on out of the bay and track on my beacon. Be ready for anything."

"Roger that, Captain," she throttled up, and with a ponderous, thundering tread, her _Chameleon_ stepped out onto the concrete floor, passing several empty 'Mechbays and a few other training machines. At the end of the bay, a ramp carried Jarome and her 'Mech out of the underground facility and into the bright sunshine. Looking about, she found herself on a huge practice field, with some buildings to her left, a mocked-up truck part to her right, and miles of rolling hills all around her. Somewhere out here was Captain O'Malley.

Pulling up her navigational map, she checked the radio beacon and throttled up, charging forward at full speed, exulting in the rush of power the Vlar 300 fusion engine gave her. She bounded along a road at sixty miles an hour, heading for the buildings to the left with a wide grin.

Meanwhile, Michael shared a grin, albeit a rather predatory one. He was crouched behind a metal building, using its magnetic signature to screen his own. Carefully, he reached up above his head and activated the MILES gear, special training equipment that would allow him to synchronize the battle computer aboard his END-6Q _Enfield_ with the computer aboard Jarome's _Chameleon_.

She bounded along, clearly not expecting ambush, and as she passed the metal warehouse, Michael stood his 'Mech up and centered his crosshairs on the center of the _Chameleon's_ back. The dot in the center of his reticule burned gold, and he let fly, hammering at Jarome with the simulated fury of an LB-10X Autocannon and the blazing caress of a large pulse laser, two medium lasers, and a small laser. He was washed in a roiling cloud of heat, but he kept the _Enfield_ moving, stepping out into the open and angling right. His Warrior suit inflated slightly, and cold fluid surged around him, protecting him from the blast of hot air.

Jarome felt the impact of the simulated assault in a head-spinning rush of neural feedback from her helmet, howling alarms on her control board, and in the rocking stagger inflicted by her computer on her gyros. The blasts had "vaporized" her rear armor and caused severe internal damage, and now she was building heat, core damage and two destroyed heatsinks contributing to the overheating of her 'Mech.

She wheeled her 'Mech, bringing her speed down to turn more tightly and instinctively moved left, trying to face her attacker. As she pivoted, she clicked the safety off her weapons, determined to show whoever had ambushed her that she still had sharp teeth. Her 'Mech finished its hard turn and she leveled her large laser at-

At nothing.

With a vicious grin, Michael zeroed in on Jarome's back once more, pouring a simulated fusillade into the exposed reactor. Jarome was shaken violently, and her 'Mech shut down. Her main console remained lit, however, informing her that her reactor had lost integrity and she was now radioactive dust. She thumped her head against the console and swore feebly. She had been beyond easy meat; what on Earth had given her the idea that she could actually be a MechWarrior?

Her earphones crackled, and she hunched her shoulders, expecting to be berated by O'Malley. However, his voice held no harshness at all, but rather a warm tone that brought a faint smile to her face and banished the lump of ice in her stomach. "What did you just learn, Jarome?"

She licked her lips nervously. "Always expect an ambush?"

She jumped slightly as her 'Mech came back to life with a shrill rumble. Her earphones crackled again. "That's correct Jarome. I'm over here on your right." Jarome brought her _Chameleon_ around, and her eyes widened as she saw how close Michael had been.

"Now, then; join up on me, and let's go finish this exercise," he said, and she could envision a smile on his face. Jarome smiled in return, and loped along next to his _Enfield_, the two 'Mechs, weighing in at a hundred tons together, shook the ground violently as they ran. "The next portion of our exercise involves holograms of BattleMechs. We'll run the course, and defeat any 'Mechs that the range computer throws our way. Be advised, your on-board computer will record damage realistically, including neural feedback."

"Roger that, Captain; I'm right with you." Jarome matched actions to words, and kept her _Chameleon_ in tight to Michael's left side, forty meters behind him. Ahead lay a motley collection of buildings, parks, and lots of smashed up ground vehicles. She checked her sensors, and watched her surroundings carefully.

Trotting forward now at just thirty five miles per hour, they entered the range. She tried to watch every direction at once, and her hand gripped the firing stick tightly. Suddenly, O'Malley's 'Mech pounded forward and tucked itself against a wall.

"Jarome! Two 'Mechs inbound fast, looking like a _Wasp_ and an _Owens_. Watch for ambush, and engage!" O'Malley's _Enfield_ dropped back, and Jarome knew she was on her own in this fight. For an instant, she felt alone, naked. The two opposing 'Mechs were faster, and combined they would out mass her machine fifty five tons to fifty.

Her headset came alive. "Remember this, Jarome. One warrior fighting has an immediate advantage- she has infinitely better coordination than two." O'Malley's voice, calm and steady, focused her, sharpened her. She grinned wildly, joyously, and slammed her throttle open, bolting forward at sixty miles per hour.

The _Wasp_ matched her speed, and broke to her right. The _Owens _snapped left, and accelerated to more than eighty miles an hour. Jarome knew this tactic- the enemy would try to flank her and destroy her rear armor. _None of that,_ she thought, and smashed both feet down on her foot pedals. Her 'Mech launched into the air on superheated columns of steam, and she leapt over a line of buildings, blocking the _Owens'_ line of sight.

She kept her throttle firewalled, and the _Wasp_ burst out of cover, straight into her sights. Her reticule burned gold, and she cut loose with her heavy firepower, burning hard red light into the enemy 'Mech. Armor burned white-hot and plates burst off, and the _Wasp_ staggered, the simulation incorporating the damage in real-time.

Jarome knew better than to stick around, so she jumped again, putting another row of buildings between herself and the enemy. She grounded, and began to turn and engage the _Owens_, when she realized how hot she was. Her body was bathed in sweat, despite the efforts of her Warrior suit, and the heat bar was just below the red line. Still, her jump had bought her time, and the _Chameleon _was up to the challenge, heat sinks dissipating the burden with gratifying swiftness.

As the heat level dropped to an acceptable level, Jarome opened her throttle, and began hunting once more. Her Magnetic Anomaly Detector (MAD) gear, indicated thirty five tons of fast moving heavy metal, so she dropped into a crouch next to a parking garage filled with old cars, and patiently waited.

Her patience was soon rewarded with a beautiful side-shot against the _Owens_. She pressed her triggers and blasted away, carefully sighting in on the machine's left leg. Her COM opened again, and O'Malley's voice echoed once more. "Good idea, Jarome. Remember, you can always reach a knee."

She grinned and savaged the crippled _Owens_, destroying its left arm and the Long Range Missile (LRM)-5 launcher contained within. Dancing her 'Mech around the _Owens, _she took advantage of her superior weight, armor, and weaponry, and methodically pounded the light machine to death. It finally toppled, just forty seconds after her first shot.

She crouched down behind the garage once more, and allowed her 'Mech to cool. Her sensors told her of another machine, one with a limp, coming down the boulevard parallel to hers. She eased her throttles up, and began to look for the _Wasp. _She was faster than the light machine, but the opposing pilot was wily and knew his trade, employing his superior heat dissipation to snipe at her and then jump away through alleys and gaps far too small for her own _Chameleon_. She finally got a lock on the _Wasp, _forcing it to jump away in a high arc- where it exploded in mid air.

O'Malley's _Enfield _walked around the opposite side of the battered structure that Jarome had used, the huge LB-10X Autocannon smoking in its right arm. "Good idea, Jarome," O'Malley said, "You're learning fast."

Jarome grinned happily. "Thanks, Captain. Where do we go from here?"

"Through the last of the course. We still have to reach the Beacon." O'Malley's _Enfield _pointed up the street with its autocannon, and Jarome moved that direction. They moved carefully and quickly, slicing through the industrial environment.

A brilliant beam slashed out and struck O'Malley. Even as armor burst and turned to slag under the fury of a Particle Projection Cannon (PPC) strike, O'Malley had his machine ducking left, his autocannon roaring and his lasers blazing. A PNT-9Q _Panther_, sporting glistening blue paintwork, staggered and shook as autocannon shells pulverized armor, sending it flying as glittering dust and the large pulse laser joined with the three smaller lasers to melt and burn off even more.

Jarome watched carefully, and drilled a second 'Mech, a 45-ton _Vindicator_, with a full laser barrage. The _Vindicator_ turned to her and returned fire, but Jarome had her _Chameleon_ moving behind a building, which soaked up five missiles and the PPC blast. One missile crashed into her shoulder, but it did nothing more than scar the simulated paint of her machine.

On her secondary monitor, Jarome watched in wonder as Michael engaged the blue _Panther_ as well as a second golden _Panther_. Each blasted away with PPCs and missiles, but Michael twisted and dodged, whirling about with the grace of a dancer. He fired, pounding both machines mercilessly, destroying armor and driving both _Panther_s back with relentless efficiency. One _Panther_, armor savaged and reactor burning, toppled backwards as its simulated pilot ejected. The second attempted to jump away over a line of buildings, but was ensnared in a full barrage of heavy weapons fire from O'Malley's _Enfield_, and tumbled over into a building, where it remained stuck, legs kicking feebly.

Jarome was snapped back to the present as the _Vindicator_ blasted her _Chameleon_ with its PPC. The electrical fury of the man-made lightning made her heads-up display (HUD) waver, but she danced her 'Mech back and locked her gunsight on the enemy machine. She let fly with everything she had, even her machine guns, and pounded the enemy 'Mech. She twisted her torso right and moved left; complicating the enemy's firing solution.

She was partially successful in that, as the PPC flew wide, but the spread of Streak Short Range Missiles (SRMs) pounded her 'Mech, three impacting on her legs, one blasting her left arm, and the last two smacking into her right arm. Unfazed, she blasted back, her large laser boring deep into the _Vindicator_, which shook, and then exploded in a brilliant blue flash as the _Vindicator'_s reactor lost integrity.

Jarome carefully stepped out, re-joining O'Malley, his voice filling her ears once more. "We're close, Jarome. Just another kilometer, but it's all open ground. Be careful, and let's go."

O'Malley moved out first, and Jarome followed. They kept their speed up and moved their machines around, making their approach harder to target. The beacon was a tall spike driven deep into the earth, set on top of a hill that reared up out of the flat square of earth.

A deep rumble rattled the ground, and Jarome felt her mouth dry out and fear punched her in the gut as an _Atlas_ rose out of the ground. It was 100 tons worth of terror, ferro-fibrous, and brutal weaponry, its cockpit fashioned into the face of Death itself.

"Jarome! Break hard right and engage on the move- standing against this monster toe to toe is suicide!" O'Malley's _Enfield_ snapped left, its weapons blazing and its legs churning in a desperate effort to stay out of the _Atlas_' crosshairs.

Seeing the _Enfield_ moving so decisively enervated Jarome and she dashed forward. The _Atlas_ was tracking O'Malley, and so she had a bare few seconds of grace from the devastating firepower arrayed before her. Deciding in an instant that a standing fight with the hundred ton _Atlas_ would never work, Jarome slammed her footpedals to the floorboards, launching her 'Mech high into the air. She had only seen this done in holovids, but the basic principle seemed sound enough, if more than a little crazy. As she reached the peak of her jump, she pulled her legs in under her and let fly with her lasers; the small lasers missed completely, but the large laser and one of the mediums seared hard light into the huge machine's ferroglass canopy.

The ferroglass heated and softened just instants before Jarome's _Chameleon_ drove its feet through it, smashing the cockpit and reducing the pilot to a red smear- or it would have.

Instead her _Chameleon_ finished its jump and landed gently on the hard ground. The hologram of the _Atlas_ faded away to nothing, and O'Malley's voice, filled with stunned admiration, echoed in her ears. "_Damn, Jarome!_" He said, "That was _some_ kind of stunt!"

Jarome's face flushed with pleasure. "Thank you, Captain!" she exclaimed delightedly. Grinning from ear to ear under her helmet, she moved her 'Mech to the beacon and tapped it with her battlefist. A horn sounded, and she knew that she'd won.


	2. Chapter 2

_David Lear Republic Army Base_

_Murchison City, Murchison_

_January 15, 3131, Local Spring_

Stepping into the locker room once more, Jarome leaned her forehead against the cool metal and sighed, her muscles shaking. She'd never felt anything as intense as the ride she'd just had; piloting that _Chameleon_ had been a high like nothing else she had ever felt before. She stood tall once more, and then sat gratefully on the bench. She had an hour to shower and clean up before she had to rejoin Captain O'Malley for a tactics and training session, and she planned to enjoy it.

She unsealed her Warrior suit, carefully stowing it, her survival vest, pistol belt, and her neurohelmet back in the black duffel bag, and stepped over to the shower. There was nobody in here, and no dividers, just showerheads with taps set into the walls. She reached up, intending to strip her underwear so it wouldn't get soaked, when a shaking figure in the corner caught her eye. Jerking back behind the wall, a furious blush spreading over her face, she angrily called out "who's there!"

A small voice echoed back at her. "I did not mean to startle you. I am very sorry; I'll leave so you may have your shower." The voice was definitely female, and even through her surprised embarrassment, Jarome could feel the pain in the other woman's voice. She stepped out of the shower room.

Jarome's breath caught in her throat- this woman was _beautiful_. She was tall, a few inches taller than Jarome's own five feet and five inches, with long auburn hair that spilled down her back, smooth tan skin, and rippling muscles that anyone would find attractive. She was clad in a simple pair of very brief shorts, and Jarome had to tug her eyes away from her lovely full chest. "Wait," Jarome managed her voice a breathless gasp, barely audible.

The other woman paused for an instant, but kept moving, as though she wanted to stop, but wasn't sure of what Jarome had said. Jarome, without thinking, reached out and gently touched the other woman on her elbow. The woman flinched, and Jarome let her hand fall. "I'm sorry…."

The other woman took a deep breath and turned to face Jarome. "It is no problem. I should not have startled you." Jarome noted absently that hers were the purest, clearest green she had ever seen. Her eyes tracked, trying to find a safe place to look, and noted the intricate, beautiful patterns of tribal tattoos that covered her left arm and swept from her right thigh over her hip and across her beautifully muscled stomach. The other woman, noticed her attention, tried to turn away.

"No, wait," Jarome said, her voice stronger now. "I'm not judging your tattoos- I think they're beautiful." Jarome locked eyes with the woman once more, and suddenly felt _something_, a spark of powerful attraction to her. "What's your name?"

The woman looked intently into her eyes, and Jarome had the sense that she was being x-rayed. "My name is Mikayla. Mikayla Nova Cat." She said it almost defiantly, as though expecting Jarome to make something of her name.

Instead, Jarome held out a hand, and Mikayla slowly shook it. Jarome savored the contact, and smiled broadly. "I'm Jarome Keller, Mikayla. I just arrived for MechWarrior training today, actually. Just ran the course with my instructor, Captain Michael O'Malley."

Mikayla suddenly smiled, as though Jarome had made some great joke. "That is good, and I am happy for you. Captain O'Malley is considered one of the very best here. It is he who will sit on my review board in two hours' time."

"Wait," Jarome exclaimed, stunned. "How did you get a Board?" A review board was a serious matter- if a candidate made it through MechWarrior School they were usually commissioned, at least as a Warrant Officer, if not an outright lieutenancy. If a person got a Board, it wasn't just a review to see of you were fit to be a MechWarrior- it was a review to see if you belonged in the Republic Armed Forces at all.

Mikayla looked down, and Jarome could feel the sorrow pouring off of her. "My instructor, Lieutenant Balver, has decided that my… heritage… is not suitable to a warrior of The Republic." She breathed deeply. "And seeing that I left my Clan to join with an Inner Sphere army, I am not welcome back in Nova Cat space."

Jarome's eyes filled with tears. "Well, we'll just see about _this!_" she said, her voice sharp. "Come on, Mikayla- let's get you cleaned up, and we'll go see Captain O'Malley together, all right?"

Mikayla looked to Jarome, surprise written on her face. "Now?" she asked her voice soft.

Jarome nodded fiercely. "Absolutely! Balver can't say that you don't belong here because you're from Clan Nova Cat!" She sniffed, and then realized how bad she smelled. "Although, I have to admit, I can't go into my commander's office smelling like this!" Jarome mercilessly dragged Mikayla into the showers, hesitating for only a second before stripping her undergarments off. _After all,_ she thought,_ it's not like Mikayla's shy here._

Minutes later, the two women showered and back in uniform, they stood in front of Captain O'Malley. His black hair was wet as well, and he smelled faintly of understated, spicy cologne that Jarome found very agreeable- it suited him. His dark green eyes, so similar and so different from Mikayla's examined them both closely. "Let me recap," he said, his voice holding an edge of danger, "Lieutenant Balver has called for a Review Board on Cadet Nova Cat based on her heritage as a Clanswoman, yes?"

Jarome nodded affirmatively. "That's my belief, yes sir."

Michael turned away, and Jarome could see he was angry. Sweeping her eyes across his office, it dawned on her that there was a Wolf in Exile pendant hung from the lamp on the corner of his desk. Did that mean-? "Right. I'll call the Lieutenant down, and we'll see exactly what's what here." He reached over and picked up the phone from his desk, speaking quietly into it.

The three waited in an uncomfortable silence for a long few minutes, until a _ping_ from the elevator at the end of the hall announced the arrival of Lieutenant Balver. Seconds later, a tall Japanese woman glided into the room, and Jarome's eyes widened slightly- there was something beautiful and deadly about her, something that reminded Jarome of nothing so much as a _Katana_ sword. She came to attention in front of O'Malley, but Jarome felt like there was something in her body language that said her heart wasn't in the show of respect.

O'Malley stared at her, and she stared back, and something _changed_ in O'Malley. He went from the warm, powerful man that had been teaching Jarome to an icy, precise machine- the man he had to be in a 'Mech's cockpit under fire. "I am told that you wish to bring a Review Board against Mikayla Nova Cat," he said, his voice flat, void of emotion.

Balver dropped her eyes fractionally, and Jarome exulted. She knew that she was busted! "I do, yes, Captain," she said, her voice rock steady but lacking vitality, certainly not able to compete with O'Malley's. "I believe her previous affiliations will… cloud… her relations with The Republic."

O'Malley shook his head disgustedly. "I disagree. No Board and you're relieved of your responsibilities to Candidate Nova Cat. She'll be joining my training lance instead, along with Candidate Marcus. You'll return to your quarters and stay there until I can process your transfer request to Ozawa, understood?"

The Japanese woman colored, obviously embarrassed, and stalked out of the office. Jarome blew out a breath as the tension in the office abruptly relaxed. O'Malley stepped forward, and held out a hand to Mikayla, whose eyes were shining. "I apologize for that, Candidate Nova Cat. I hope you're still willing to stay in the program, and finish your training with us?"

Mikayla's face split into a broad smile, and she grasped O'Malley's hand tightly. "Thank you so much, Star Captain," she said, her voice filled with wonder and gratitude.

"It's no trouble, Candidate Nova Cat. There's nothing more aggravating to me than sheer blind stupidity, and Lieutenant Balver's had a problem with you from day one." O'Malley smiled broadly and gestured to the door. "I'm sure Candidate Keller will be willing to show you the way to our ward room. I'll be along in thirty minutes, as soon as I process a certain transfer request."

Recognizing the polite dismissal, the two women came to attention and walked out of the office. Michael sat heavily, and chuckled quietly. He wondered how long it was going to take Jarome to figure out that Mikayla was interested in her just as much as Jarome was interested in Mikayla, and who would make the first move. He shrugged and turned his computer terminal on. One great leap for Clan-Inner Sphere relations, he laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

_David Lear Republic Army Base_

_Murchison City, Murchison_

_Prefecture III, Republic of the Sphere_

_September 3133; Local summer_

Jarome bounded forward, a broad grin plastered on her face. It was tradition in the III Triarii not to tell a candidate of their successful induction as a MechWarrior, but rather to leave the Triarii unit patch in an unexpected place for the new MechWarrior to find. She wanted to find Michael and maybe just give him a giant hug. She had already checked the 'Mechbay, his office, and the little apartment he had in the Base Officer's Quarters (BOQ). So he had to be either in the communications room or the dining hall, one or the other.

The communications center was closer, so that was her first choice. She dashed through the halls of David Lear as fast as she could, only slowing long enough to salute an occasional officer here and there; even here, in the heart of the prefecture, the Army was startlingly small.

She made it to the communications center, a surprisingly austere room whose trio of monitors at the head of the slightly oblong space showed up to the date local, planetary, and Republic-wide news to keep the officers and enlisted men of the Murchison Triarii in the know about any hostilities.

Today, the screen for the Republic news, provided by ComStar, was blank; not even the ComStar seal to indicate an interruption, just blank. O'Malley stood in front of the screen, his head down and his right down massaging his temples. His left hand, crossed over his stomach, held a flimsy printout tightly.

Jarome froze, her happy outburst frozen on her lips. Something was very wrong here. She took a hesitant step forward and coughed quietly, trying not to startle O'Malley.

"Hey, Jarome," O'Malley said, his voice heavy. "Come over here please, this is going to concern you as well." Without turning, he held out the flimsy.

Jarome came forward, and took the sheet, reading the short transmission relayed from the ComStar Beta Circuit; her eyes widened and she felt her heart pound painfully against her ribs. "Is this real, Captain?" She asked, fear and worry and a strange excitement rising in her all at once.

O'Malley nodded heavily and turned to face her; his face, so usually happy with a small smile, as though he knew something you didn't, had a gravity she had never thought could exist in him. "I'm afraid so, Jarome. ComStar reports eighty percent of the entire HyperPulse Generator grid has been knocked out, destroyed either physically or its software hopelessly corrupted." He paused and took a deep breath. "Someone's just sent us all back to the Dark Ages."

Jarome froze, her heart seeming to come to a dead stop in her chest. If ComStar was off-line like that, if worlds couldn't talk to each other, how could The Republic maintain the peace? "What does this mean for us, Captain?" Jarome's voice was a little shaky, but she felt a small flare of pride that it was steady; a small victory.

O'Malley worked his head around in a circle on his shoulders, letting out a pained sigh. "We get out on the streets and be very, very visible for the next several days until the people calm down. Then we train, train and train some more until the Exarch sends us somewhere.


	4. Chapter 4

_David Lear Republic Army Base_

_Murchison City, Murchison_

_Prefecture III, Republic of the Sphere_

_November, 3133; Local summer_

Stepping out into the bright light of the Company ready room, Captain Michael O'Malley of the Third Triarii Protectors grinned tightly. There were only a few others in the room, Jarome Keller, his former student and now a Lieutenant, Chief Warrant Officer Mikayla Nova Cat, and Chief Warrant Officer Stanley Marcus. They were his lancemates, and it gave Michael a sense of how serious things had gotten over the past few weeks that he was being deployed with a whole lance.

Jarome noticed him first, and called out "commander on deck!" Everyone snapped to attention, and Michael came to attention himself, returning the almost automatic salute the three had snapped off. "At ease, MechWarriors; I have news and orders. We are being sent to Northwind, in order to support the Prefect. She has spread her Highlanders very thin, and it looks like a big push is coming to Northwind. It is the key to everything in the Third Prefecture; whoever controls Northwind will have a clean shot to Terra itself, and to the heart of our Republic." The three warriors didn't say anything, or grumble with anger, but from the slight shifts in weight, Michael knew that the three were incensed that someone would want to break apart The Republic that had given the Inner Sphere a generation without war.

He locked eyes with each MechWarrior, and continued. "To accomplish our orders, the Exarch has issued to us new weapons. Each of us has been assigned a BattleMech, and we are under orders to use them with extreme prejudice against the enemies of The Republic." Jarome managed to suppress a smile, but Mikayla and Stan let their grins slip out from under their military discipline. "Come on, now, you three, and let's get the assignments done."

Michael turned and led his lance down the standard Republic taupe hallways of David Lear until he reached the MechBay. Each warrior donned a hard hat and heavy earmuffs; the MechBay was a dangerous and noisy place to wander into. Making sure his troops had the appropriate protection; he opened the heavy door and stepped inside. Ozone, oil, hot metal, sweat, and the nerve-tingling scent of Gauss magnets assaulted him. He had been a MechWarrior for most of his adult life, but the rush he got every time he stepped into an active hangar never disappointed him.

Standing huge and gleaming in their new burgundy and grey Republic colors, four huge machines dwarfed the three _Chameleon_ training machines at the end of the bay, and Michael's former machine, his _Enfield_, had been re-assigned to another lance that had left earlier in the week. Surrounding them now were a 60-ton _Rifleman, _a 65-ton _Cestus_, a 65-ton _Catapult, _and there, newly rebuilt and standing tall once more, an ancient 75-ton _Hammerhands;_ its huge autocannons glinting dangerously.

Michael turned to face his Warriors, pleased that each one wore a look of wonder and deep awe at the sight of the machines, and gave each one quick, clear hand signals. Stan Marcus would take the _Rifleman_; Mikayla Nova Cat would ride the _Cestus;_ Jarome would have the _Catapult;_ and Michael would take the _Hammerhands. _Each Warrior trotted obediently to his or her machine and rode the small elevators to their cockpits. Michael himself finally allowed the fierce grin that had bubbling up in him to escape. He slid into his cockpit, dogging the hatch behind him, and tugged off the hard hat and ear muffs, replacing them with his neurohelmet. He pulled the helmet down over his head, locking the collar of his jumpsuit to the heavy steel at the bottom of the helmet, and snapped the neural leads and coolant lines into their appropriate sockets.

Pushing his faceplate up onto the forehead of the helmet, he carefully blanked his mind, allowing the battle computer to read his neural patterns; they had already been programmed, of course, but it never hurt to make sure the computer had it easy reading you for the first time.

The computer beeped, and his screens came alive and a soft whine announced electricity was flowing from the huge machine's batteries. The computer asked him to enter his Command Code, a series of letters and numbers that would confirm his identity. He quickly did, and asked for a voiceprint check, an archaic, yet still highly effective, security measure. The Computer beeped in readiness, and Michael spoke; "It being necessary to secure for our children security and freedom do we, the Third Triarii Protectors, solemnly give our oaths to protect and defend The Republic of the Sphere." The computer beeped again, and the 'Mech shivered, its Fusion engine reaching criticality and igniting. A deep _thrum_, felt with the bones much more than with the ears, announced its awakening.

Opening a COM channel to his lancemates, Michael spoke once more, the microphones built into his helmet transmitting his words in perfect clarity. "Third Triarii, by numbers, announce your readiness for departure; Triarii One, all systems green, weapons secure, ready for departure."

Jarome's voice, military hard but the sweetness in her spirit seeping through anyway, echoed next. "This is Triarii Two, all weapons secure, systems green, and ready for departure."

Stan opened his channel next, voice chipper and full of excitement. "This is Triarii Three; all systems are on-line, nothing's gone wrong yet."

Finally, Mikayla's voice, her Russian accent more noticeable in her excitement, chimed in. "Zis is Triarii Four. I am ready to fight, Captain."

"All right, Lance, by the numbers, up and out on my beacon." Michael quickly set a navigation beacon and throttled up, exulting in the sensation of the 75-ton _Hammerhands_ responding to his touch. It stepped out, and negotiated the ramp with no trouble at all. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael noticed a trio of very young figures in grey and burgundy staring up at them open mouthed- new Triarii MechWarrior candidates to take over the _Chameleon_s.

Once out on the wide open fields of Murchison, two of the three moons high above, Michael opened the COM channel once more. "All right, Lance, skirmish formation, and let's run the range real quick, shall we?"

Three acknowledgements popped back at him, and he smiled as the lance sorted itself organically. As both commander and pilot of the heaviest machine, Michael reserved point for himself, and Mikayla slid up on his left, a hundred meters away, in her _Cestus._ That machine's huge Gauss rifle, twin Defiance B3L large lasers and pair of Defiance B3M medium lasers would complement the new Mydron LB-10X Autocannons, quartet of medium lasers, and SRM-6 rack carried by the _Hammerhands_. Stan fell back on the right wing, his _Rifleman's_ weapons systems equally suited to both anti-Mech and anti-air operations, and Jarome fell back on the left, her twin LRM-15 racks and four medium pulse lasers providing pinpoint fire support for the lance.

The hills rolled, and before long, the Range computer found its first opportunity to test them; a combined-arms lance racing in over the ridgeline ahead. Michael grinned savagely, his heart thundering in his chest, as he called out the incoming unfriendlies. "Heads up, Lance; enemy contacts approaching from the north. Stan, you target those Yellow Jackets; once they're gone, hammer the IndiMech coming up on your right. Mikayla, I want you to suppress those _Ontos _tanks. I'll take on that_ Avatar;_ and Jarome, you hit that _Mad Cat MkII _in the center, understood?"

Jarome double clicked her mic, and the Warrant Officers snapped off quick acknowledgements. Michael pressed forward, centering the _Avatar _in his gunsights. He watched in his Heads up Display (HUD) as his lance broke up and opened fire; the HUD was an invaluable addition, it compressed 290 degrees of view into 180 degrees, allowing Michael to see more of his blind spots.

Stan activated his tracking radar, and his 'Mech's weapons began to vomit hard light and hypervelocity depleted uranium into the Yellow Jackets. Michael could tell that the fast, tough machines hadn't expected a _Rifleman_ to be in the mix- they split up, but one was caught in the hailstorm of fire and simply came apart. Stan quickly re-targeted another, and began a deadly duel of fire and maneuver- the Yellow Jackets were fast, adept 'Mech-killers; their Gauss Rifles could easily tear Stan apart with just a few hits.

Michael glanced over at Jarome to check on her; he took a moment to admire the lines of the huge _Catapult_. It was a special Republic model, produced at one of the hidden factories the Exarch and his Paladins maintained. Combining ferro-fibrous armor, an extralight engine, and endo-steel chassis, the _Catapult_ carried two Long Range Missile (LRM) 15 racks, backed up by four Martell medium lasers. As he watched, Jarome got a good lock on the ninety ton _Mad Cat MkII_ and let fly, her machine disappearing under a huge wave of smoke from the launchers. The enemy 'Mech tried to dodge, but the advanced technology aboard Jarome's Republic-built _Cat_ kept the lock, and the _Mad Cat _disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame as all thirty missiles smashed into it, shattering armor, blasting into endo-steel bones, and shredding the port side LRM 10 of the Clan machine. Jarome slowed her machine's advance, cutting diagonal to the rest of the battle- she knew better than to close with a machine that outweighed her own by 25 tons, especially when that machine carried two Clan Gauss Rifles.

Mikayla dashed in, using her _Cestus'_ high top speed to get a clean shot on the lead _Ontos._ Her Gauss slug crashed into it, crunching deep into the armor, and brilliant scarlet beams from her lasers boiled away tread sections; she seemed to be going for the treads, a solid tactic to keep the four deadly medium lasers far away from her own armor.

Michael focused his attention on his own target, the 70 ton _Avatar. _It was the fastest enemy machine on the field, and as an OmniMech, could be carrying nearly anything. It pivoted at the waist, and discharged a pair of Extended Range (ER) Particle Projection Cannons (PPCs) at Michael, the man made lightning striking his 'Mech at their maximum range. He grunted as neuro-feedback stabbed into his brain, and electricity crawled over his 'Mech. However, if the enemy 'Mech could hit him, he could hit back.

Igniting his jump jets, he blasted out of the _Avatar'_s target lock and drew his own bead on the heavy 'Mech. His cross hairs glowed gold, and his target acquisition gear howled with a good lock, so he pressed the trigger on his twin Mydron Excel LB-10X Autocannons. With a thunderous roar, they spat 120mm armor-piercing shells at the enemy, shredding armor and clawing at the cockpit canopy. The _Avatar _jerked, and Michael grinned wolfishly. The old Armstrong guns stock on the _Hammerhands_ hadn't had anything like this range.

Grounding safely, Michael cut hard on a left oblique, taking advantage of the confusion a second devastating barrage from Jarome's _Catapult _caused. Her missiles seemed to devour the _Mad Cat_, blasting off an arm and chewing deeply into its center torso, seeking out the vital gyros that kept the machine upward. Unable to deal with so much pounding of the gyros and the loss of so much armor, weaponry, and internal structure, the machine fell, where it lay, struggling to get up.

The _Avatar _shied away from the lethal cloud of destruction, fearing a similar fate, and charged Michael, its PPCs blasting and flights of missiles pouring from its torso. The missiles flew in a straight line, and Michael felt tension relax in his gut as he saw that they had been launched unguided; they passed harmlessly to his right. One PPC missed as well, but the second struck his right leg, squarely in the thigh; armor exploded and melted (or so his battle computer told him), but otherwise the leg was fine. _I can't take much more of that,_ he thought, and cut in deeper towards the _Avatar, _carefully drawing his sights onto the right torso of the enemy machine. His reticule burned gold once more, and he depressed both of his triggers, firing all of his weapons on the same Target Interlock Circuit (TIC). Heat washed over him, and he belatedly realized his helmet was unsealed as broiling, bone dry air parched his throat.

The damage to the _Avatar_ was much more compelling, however; tons of armor shattered under his heavy cannon, and more armor boiled and ran like butter before a blowtorch under the beams of his two medium lasers and the double-tap of the twin medium pulse lasers in the chest of his 'Mech. His six Short Range Missiles (SRMs) blew deep craters into the armor, and the right arm of the _Avatar _slumped, its shoulder actuator destroyed. The weapons would still fire, but the enemy machine wouldn't be able to target them effectively. One more pass like that and the _Avatar_ would be useless. Michael took advantage of the enemy 'Mech's staggered state to flip down and seal his faceplate; cool, blessedly moist air surged into his lungs, and cleared his mind, while his coolant suit washed heat away from his body.

The battle was going much the same way for the rest of his Lance. His Sensors reported that Stan's_ Rifleman_ was smoking from a Gauss hit to one of his double heat sinks, but both Yellow Jackets were down, and the MiningMech (modified with a pair of 50mm autocannons and an SRM pack in addition to its rock drill) was being thoroughly crushed under the weight of his lasers and Ultra Autocannons. Mikayla's _Cestus_ was scarred and burned from the lasers of the two _Ontos_ she was facing, but both tanks were immobilized. Even as Michael watched, one _Ontos_ blew apart as a Gauss slug from the _Cestus_ shredded its fusion engine. Jarome pulverized the _Mad Cat_ once more, and it finally blew apart in a spectacular display of pyrotechnics as the missile count reached 120 warheads, all placed with pinpoint precision.

In fact, his was really the only viable target left on the battlefield. Michael slammed his throttle forward and ran in close, blasting the _Avatar _with every weapon, shattering armor, burning away internal structure, his missiles chipping away at the Standard skeleton of the enemy machine. It tried to return fire, but its remaining weapons fired on empty space; Michael had already fired his jumpjets, ignoring for the moment the dangerous heat build-up. He sailed high into the air, and he imagined the _Avatar_ freezing in terror as the 75 ton _Hammerhands_ fell out of a clear blue sky onto its shoulders.

The hip joints were the first to give on the _Avatar,_ snapping away under the huge weight. Michael clenched his teeth and rode the shock, his head swimming and his gyros screaming, and somehow he kept the 'Mech upright as he rode the _Avatar _to the ground. He came to a halt, and carefully scanned the battlefield. Seeing no enemy machines standing, he grinned. "Well done, Triarii. That's a win for the home team. Let's get back to the barn; we set out for Northwind in the morning."


	5. Chapter 5

_Lake Meade Recreational Preserve_

_Murchison City, Murchison_

_Prefecture III, Republic of the Sphere_

_November, 3133; Local summer_

Mikayla stood on the high cliff overlooking Lake Meade, letting the brisk, warm breeze play over her body and tug at her deep red hair. With the HPGs down, and fighting breaking out all over The Republic, she was more conflicted than ever. The previous night, in her bed after a dinner in Murchison City proper with Jarome, she had slept, and she had Dreamed.

When a Nova Cat Dreamed, it wasn't the normal unrelated images and colors that most dreams were. No, a Dream was a message to a Nova Cat's soul, and this one had been unequivocal. She had dreamt of herself as a Nova Cat, and she had been watching over a beautiful woman in a Roman toga, roses embroidered upon it. A faceless, many headed creature had suddenly attacked, and with the inescapable certainty of Dreams, Mikayla knew that the creature was attacking the defenseless Roman woman.

Turning her unit patch over in her hands, Mikayla felt that this might be the Roman woman from her Dream. The patch depicted a trio of yellow Roman columns, hearkening back to the Roman heritage of The Republic, stitched over a crimson rectangle. She had often heard Inner Sphere people referring to their nation with a female pronoun. Was that it?

A vibration in the ground stirred her from her thoughts. She turned, and gasped in surprise as she watched a very familiar _Catapult_ striding towards her. On one side of the torso gleamed the seal of The Republic and the Triarii insignia on the other side. She smiled broadly and waved the wind whipping around her.

The _Catapult _pulled up and hunkered down on its legs, seeming to crouch just like a bird on its reverse-jointed legs. It sighed into low-power mode, and a chain ladder soon tumbled down the side. Jarome's face appeared, wearing a smile. "Come on up," she called over the wind. "I have a surprise for you up here!" She disappeared back from sight.

Mikayla hesitated for a long second, something in her spirit stirring. Perhaps _this_ was the sign her Dream had indicated. Jarome did, after all, have Roman attributes in her build, and she certainly exemplified a kind nobility, and she served The Republic, which had a heavy Roman influence…. Shaking herself, she grabbed the chain ladder and began to clamber up. To her surprise, the chain ladder began to retract, and Mikayla smiled as she hung on- this was much nicer than clambering up herself.

Reaching the top, the ladder stopped, and Mikayla looked up to see Jarome's beautiful, smiling face looking down at her. Jarome held out a hand, and Mikayla took it and swiftly climbed up, finding herself pressed against Jarome. She smiled, stroking a curl of glossy brown hair away from Jarome's face. She blushed, and turned, walking to the flat place between the LRM-15 launchers. Mikayla followed, and let out a silvery laugh as she found that Jarome had spread a blanket there and arrayed a picnic dinner on it, complete with faux candles twinkling in the warm twilight settling around them.

Jarome sat down, looking up at Mikayla warmly, and reached out a hand. Mikayla took it and settled gracefully next to her. "I am not completely familiar with Inner Sphere rituals," Mikayla said with a blush. "Is a twilight picnic a common thing for team mates?"

Jarome smiled, and a blush darkened her dusky skin. "No, not exactly, Mikayla. But I was hoping," she reached into a small box next to her, "that you would consider being more than just my team mate." From the box, Jarome tugged out a bunch of roses and handed them to Mikayla.

Mikayla took the flowers and held them up, breathing deeply. With a visceral shock, she realized that they were roses! Snapping her eyes back up, suddenly everything connected- the roses, the Roman woman, everything fit so perfectly together! Making her decision in an instant, Mikayla set the roses on the hard skin of the 'Mech and leaned forward, gently locking her lips to Jarome's.

After a startled shake, Jarome smiled against Mikayla's lips and slipped her arms around Mikayla's torso, gently tugging her down onto Jarome's body as the two laid full length on the 'Mech. Their passion rose, and the sun painted their skin with red, gold, and blue as it sank into the horizon. The picnic was eventually eaten, but not until much later.

Many hours later, Mikayla sat cross legged on the _Catapult's_ back, wearing nothing but the moon's silvery light on her bare skin. She carefully shuffled her ancient tarot deck, one that had been passed down to her from her mother's mother. She dealt the cards in a classic three-card pattern. Her first card was her past, and she turned up a Strife card. _Appropriate,_ she thought to herself. Strife had certainly followed her, and she had been raised from the cradle for war. The second card was her present, and indicated conflict. It was also a heart card, intended to reflect that the problem could be solved with the heart more easily than the mind. The final card was Victory, and she smiled. Victory was the one card she had yearned for- indicating that the path ahead of her, if she followed her heart, would bring success.

Turning, she looked over Jarome's sleeping form. Her head was propped on her arm, and her dark skin glowed slightly with the light of the moon and stars. She stirred slightly in her sleep her left hand reaching out, trying to find Mikayla. Mikayla smiled, and under the stars, with her spirit comforted by the tarot, she slipped back into the embrace of her new lover.


	6. Chapter 6

_Tara, Northwind_

_Prefecture III, Republic of the Sphere,_

_December 3133; local winter_

Stepping his _Hammerhands _down the ramp, Michael smiled at the skirling sound of bagpipes and at the presence of a number of khaki uniforms, complete with kilts. He'd always wanted to visit Northwind, and while he wished it was under better circumstances, this was a great chance for him. Clicking open his COM channel, he spoke to his friends. "Triarii Lance, spread out, parade formation, and let's give our hosts a good look at us, shall we?"

There was a chorus of acknowledgements, and the four great BattleMechs, resplendent in the burgundy and gold of The Republic, stomped down the ramp of the _Confederate-_class dropship _Swift Wind_. The crowd gathered at the base of the ship cheered wildly, greatly enjoying the show of so much heavy metal arriving to help protect their world from harm.

Michael led his lance across the tarmac, an inspiring sight the locals needed very much, and brought them to a halt in a vast hangar well away from the main drop port itself. He followed a technician's batons to an assigned place, and shut his machine down, carefully unsnapping his neurohelmet's leads and his jumpsuit's hoses before popping the ladder. Seeing no platform to lift him down, he unfurled the chain ladder below his hatch and clambered down. Reaching the bottom, he watched as Jarome spoke quietly with Mikayla. The two of them had formed quite a bond in the three months the lance had been together. They had really come together in the short training campaign on Murchison, and Michael privately suspected their attachment went quite a bit deeper than professional respect. He shrugged and smiled slightly. Jarome was short and compact, a well built woman at home in the cramped confines of a BattleMech, which might explain the attraction to the tall, lithe Mikayla. Any way around the matter, it was none of his business, so long as the two stayed professional, which they would.

Stan came up and nudged his elbow. "Take a look, sir; it seems that our hosts are heading this way."

Michael glanced over, taking in the row of military figures. In the lead was a small blonde woman with an undeniable presence and a tartan kilt, flanked by a taller woman, also blond, and a well-built man with a fierce ginger mustache and the even solid step of the battle-hardened veteran commander. It was the man standing side by side the leading blonde that formed an undeniable, indescribable block of ice in his gut.

The man was a little under average height, just taller than the woman he walked next to, and was dressed in plain, dark civilian clothes. He walked with an undeniably military tread, and carried himself like a fighter. It was the eyes, though, that were unsettling; he was an olive-skinned man, with slightly almond-shaped, vividly ice-blue eyes.

The group halted, and Michael snapped to attention, unconsciously noting that he heard three pairs of boots snapping softly behind him; Mikayla and Jarome had at some point rejoined the lance. He saluted, knowing instinctively that he faced Prefect Countess Tara Campbell in the form of the slightly built blonde, and Paladin of the Inner Sphere Ezekiel Crow in the form of the strangely unsettling dark man standing next to her. "Ma'am," he said, his voice an even, warm military tone, "Captain Michael O'Malley and the First Triarii Lance reporting to the Prefect as ordered, ma'am!"

The Prefect returned the salute, and while she looked happy to see them, and the other two Highlander officers at least looked willing to accept them, Paladin Crow looked distinctly unhappy with their presence. Campbell spoke first, however. "Welcome to Northwind, Captain. Will you introduce your officers?"

Michael bowed slightly, and gave the faint smile that was both properly military and gave the Prefect the indication that he was happy to be where he was, despite the ice trickling through his guts at the Paladin's steady, unsettlingly blue gaze. It was a skill he had learned after being Triarii for so long; he spent as much time on political activities as he did military training.

He turned and extended a hand to Jarome. "This is Lieutenant Jarome Keller, my lance second. She pilots the _Catapult_ you see there, as she is one of the finest shots in the Third Triarii Regiment." Jarome blushed slightly at the praise, and saluted sharply, but he could tell by the way she stood a few inches closer to Mikayla, ready to put herself between Mikayla and any threat, and the way that she was actively _not_ looking at Crow, that she shared his own discomfort with the Paladin.

Shrugging mentally, and trusting in Jarome's instincts to warn him of danger, Michael next gestured to Mikayla. "This is Chief Warrant Officer Mikayla Nova Cat. A recent recruit to the Triarii from Clan Nova Cat, she pilots the _Cestus_ in my lance, adding to our firepower and spearheading assaults." Mikayla snapped a sharp salute, but her blue eyes blazed; something had her blood up. Countess Campbell noted the lack of a burgundy coolant suit, and her eyes traced the intricate Celtic tattoos that laced up her right thigh, under her minimal shorts, and crept up her midriff before disappearing under a black Clan coolant shirt. "Chief Nova Cat has chosen to take the Republic as hers, and to make herself the Republic's." Tara looked hard at the woman, and suddenly Mikayla locked eyes with the Countess. Michael felt their wills clashing, and suddenly Tara smiled a tight, hard expression that Mikayla reciprocated. On some level, deep below the surface, the two women had made a connection between warriors.

_Moving right along,_ Michael thought, and stepped next to Stan. "And this is Chief Warrant Officer Stanley Marcus, who pilots the _Rifleman._ He's my very best at anti-aircraft combat, and also wears the hat of my intelligence officer, in case you need a spare." Stan saluted, and covertly eyed the tall blonde half-hidden behind the Prefect. _Typical Stan, _Michael thought ruefully. _He always did like blondes._

Michael came to attention next to Stan, and gave the Countess his attention. "And I myself pilot the _Hammerhands_ and direct the lance, ma'am."

Countess Campbell nodded slowly and smiled, genuine warmth lighting her face. "Most impressive, Captain; I see that the Exarch truly sent his best to me and to Northwind. Allow me to introduce my own officers, Brigadier General Michael Griffin;" the spit and polish man with the proud mustache nodded slightly, eyes boring into Michael's, "and Captain Tara Bishop, my aide." Bishop looked over at Michael and smiled; he felt something electric leap through him, and he smiled back instinctively. She was a beautiful woman, with shining green eyes, medium length blonde hair swept back from a fine face with lovely regular features. Her smile seemed to connect with his, and for a wild instant his mind swirled with possibilities before he mastered himself.

Campbell turned to Crow, and Michael felt the ice in his gut return; the way that Campbell looked at Crow warned him instantly that she felt the same way Jarome did for Mikayla. "This, of course, is Paladin Crow. You'll be reporting to him, as well as to me during your stay here." Campbell smiled once more. "Now, I must return to the Fort and my duties there. Captain Bishop will take care of you and make sure you get settled in properly."

Michael and the rest of the lance snapped to attention and saluted. Countess Campbell returned their salute, and Paladin Crow gave them a grave nod, and then both strode away, General Griffin following along silently. Captain Bishop walked forward, and stuck out a hand. Michael relaxed and shook it.

"Glad to really meet you, Captain O'Malley," she said, and Michael grinned, reluctantly releasing her hand.

"We're glad to be here, Captain Bishop. Where exactly are we to be berthed at?" Michael replied, thinking that Captain Bishop looked to be as solid a fighter as she was attractive. "And please, call me Michael."

Bishop laughed; a warm sound. "And you should call me Tara, Michael. If your lance will mount up, we'll get you settled in at the Fort."


	7. Chapter 7

_The Fort_

_Tara, Northwind_

_Prefecture III, Republic of the Sphere,_

_February 3134; local winter_

Jarome smiled softly to herself as she felt Mikayla's arms wrap around her. They had been together all night, and the feeling of Mikayla's surprisingly soft skin pressed against her bare flesh sent a wave of pleasure through her. "I'm surprised you're awake," she whispered.

Mikayla, taller by a few inches, rested her chin gently on the crown of Jarome's head, breathing deeply of Jarome's scent. "I admit I am rather worn out. I did not expect you to have quite so much stamina."

Jarome laughed and leaned back, sliding her right hand over Mikayla's hip and holding the sheet up over her with her left. "You Clanners never will learn about us Spheroids, will you?"

Mikayla nuzzled closer. "I suppose not. Then again, I rather like the surprises you bring."

Jarome turned, letting the sheet fall, and gathered Mikayla in her arms, gently kissing her soft lips, her arms ensnaring her. "Well," she whispered silkily, "since you're awake, there's always room for more experimentation."

Mikayla sighed and leaned into the embrace, and let out a startled gasp as Jarome clicked a pair of silver handcuffs closed around Mikayla's wrists. "Just so you won't run away," Jarome whispered, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

As Jarome gently pushed Mikayla down to the bed, her only response was a contented sigh.

'_MechBay, the Fort_

_Tara, Northwind_

_Prefecture III, the Republic of the Sphere_

_February 3134; local winter_

Michael whistled softly to himself as he worked on the massive autocannon that made up his _Hammerhands'_ right arm. It was menial work, just cleaning and oiling the firing mechanism, but it was calming, and focused him in a way that he found immensely soothing. As he worked, he found himself thinking of the fierce, lovely Captain Tara Bishop. The two of them had worked together for close to three months now, going over the plans for defense of Northwind and the deployment of the Triarii. There was something else, too, something he'd not had time to feel in years now; simple attraction to a beautiful woman.

_She's more than beautiful, _he thought, carefully spraying a light coating of gun oil over the metal. _She's a hard fighter, a damn good administrator, and smart as hell._

Soft footsteps warned Michael of the approach of another person. Glancing up, expecting tech chief Donegal, he sucked in a quick breath of surprise as he beheld Captain Bishop walking into the 'bay. "Tara," he called, raising a hand. "I'm up here."

Tara grinned and waved back, sliding up the ladder that linked the maintenance platform to the ground with a feline grace that he had come to admire. Vaulting the safety railing, she landed, a mischievous smile playing over her face. "Good," she said, her voice husky. "I'm glad I caught you alone. I need to talk to you."

Mouth strangely dry, it took Michael a moment to force words out. "What's the matter, Tara?"

Tara took out a compad and punched in a code; the two doors leading into the 'bay clanked shut and red lights appeared, indicating that they had been security locked. As Michael watched, confused, she lifted her satchel over her shoulder and dragged out a blanket, tossing it to the grating floor. She walked up to him, pulled the oil gun out of his hands, and grasped them tightly in her own. "I've had enough dancing 'round," she said, her voice lowering and her Northwind brogue slipping out. "It's time you and I did something about this."

Looking into Tara's glowing green eyes, Michael made up his mind. Letting go of his captaincy, letting go of his absolute devotion to his unit and his nation, he pulled Tara Bishop into his chest and kissed her passionately.

It took them nearly a half an hour to find her underwear inside the autocannon, but both agreed it was worth it.


	8. Chapter 8

_The Fort_

_Tara, Northwind _

_Prefecture III, the Republic of the Sphere,_

_February 3134; local winter_

The strident alarm reverberating through the Fort sent Jarome and Mikayla scrambling, each of them clawing for utilities, for boots and uniforms. In seconds, both were dressed, and sprinting to the 'Mechbay. The alarm pounding could only mean one thing: an urgent call to arms. Within thirty seconds, they had reached the bay, to find it swarming with technicians arming the BattleMechs and preparing them for deployment.

Mikayla began to run for her _Cestus, _but Jarome caught her arm, jerking the taller woman back into the semi-privacy of the side hall. Jarome caught Mikayla's head in her hands, kissing her fiercely. "I know you're Clan," she whispered as she broke the kiss. "But don't you dare get killed out there today, love."

Mikayla smiled. "I never knew what life could truly be like until you arrived with a rose in your hand," she whispered. "You must come back to me, as well."

"I'd better," Jarome whispered, grinning. "Or you'll never get these cuffs off." With a double click, Jarome close the gleaming silver handcuffs around Mikayla's right wrist, "because I'm the only one with the keys!" Jarome grinned and sprinted for her _Catapult_, pulling her coolant suit up from around her waist and sealing the front.

Mikayla stared after her for a long instant, savoring the sight of her lover's strong, feminine body running toward her 'Mech. Mikayla had feared such attachment at first, her dreams confused and contradictory, but after their first night together during the transit to Northwind, her visions had cleared with a crystalline quality. Jarome, and by extension The Republic, were here future now. Glancing down at her wrist, and the gleaming metal encircling her wrist, she smiled, and began to run to her _Cestus._ Made for war, and granted clarity by love, she took up arms now to defend a planet against what had once been her kinsmen. Her dreams, once so confusing, had finally coalesced.

Michael scrambled into his coolant suit, buckling his utility vest around his chest and sealing his helmet to its collar on the suit. Looking around, he saw Stan bolting across the 'bay floor, his helmet skewed, struggling to straighten it, blow a kiss to the Highlander tech working on his machine, and see through one eye all at once. Jarome, already fully uniformed, was pinning her hair to her head; Michael could see a glittering piece of metal dangling from her throat. On closer inspection, it looked like a key. She watched Mikayla as she checked over her _Cestus_; glittering metal again caught Michael's eye. _Handcuffs?_ He thought, and shrugged; _to each her own_.

He jumped up onto the maintenance platform, and nodded sharply to sergeant McMahon, who started the lift. Within seconds, he was at his 'Mech's shoulder and scrambling through the hatch into his cockpit. With practiced ease, he snapped all leads and lines into their proper places, ran through his activation codes, and brought the mighty _Hammerhands_ to life with a throaty roar. With a whine, his pulse and regular medium lasers charged, and there was a metallic clatter as the twin LB-10X autocannons armed, massive 155mm shells sliding into the chambers.

"Triarii Lance, this is Triarii One. Call off by numbers and report readiness," he said, flashing his 'Mech's outer lights once, the symbol of readiness to the ground crew. As they began to clear, his lancemates began to check in.

"This is Two," Jarome said, her voice calm and a little more confident than he had heard before. _The relationship with Mikayla is no detriment there,_ he thought. "My 'Mech is armed and ready for battle, awaiting your orders."

"Three here," Stan's voice, chipper as always, echoed through his headset next, "ready to put a whoopin' on some Tin Puppies."

"This is four," Mikayla's voice was tight with anticipation and readiness for battle. "I am ready to serve The Republic."

"All right, Triarii, move up and out, to the command beacon, and await dispatch by Control," Michael said, and suited action to word, advancing his throttle and moving his _Hammerhands_ out the massive main doors of the 'Mechbay and into the streets of Terra. War was here, and he was ready to fight it.

The lance gathered quickly, and Michael led the way toward their assembly point. Seeing a group of Highlanders up ahead, he opened a COM channel to the Highlander command post. "Command, this is Triarii One, arriving on station and ready to fight; where are we needed?"

The radio crackled, and a strained voice came back. "Triarii lance, we'll need you to split up and deploy across the city. We need two of your 'Mechs to move toward grip position alpha-three and the spaceport and help suppress the Steel Wolves coming in from there, and the other two should proceed west and support Colonel Ballantrae's battalion against a push there, copy?"

Michael nodded, remembered the radioman couldn't see him, and said "roger that, control." He twisted the torso on his _Hammerhands_, and switched back over to the lance frequency. "All right, gang, listen up. The Highlanders need us in two places at once, so Jarome, you take Mikayla and head west toward Colonel Ballantrae's battalion. Stan, you're coming with me and helping to press the Steel Wolves back into the spaceport where they belong; everybody good?"

Mikayla and Jarome came back with fast affirmatives, and Stan merely double clicked his microphone and brought his machine in close to Michael's. "All right, gang, for the Exarch and The Republic, into battle, and my God go with you." He turned his _Hammerhands _east and north, and accelerated, trotting down the main boulevard toward the Steel Wolves.


	9. Chapter 9

_Colonel Ballantrae's Battalion_

_Tara, Northwind _

_Prefecture III, the Republic of the Sphere,_

_February 3134; local winter_

Keeping her eyes peeled and watching for ambushes, Jarome followed Mikayla down the narrow confines of Tara's main city streets, carefully following the reports of infantry spotters who were watching the Steel Wolves. The infantry had spotted a team of modified Industrial 'Mechs, one Mining and two Construction mods moving toward their positions, supported by a pair of DI Schmitt heavy tanks. Now, though the Wolves hopefully didn't know it, they were the prey on the menu.

"Do you see anything, Jarome?" Mikayla asked, her warm soft voice taut with anticipation at the thought of battle being joined.

Sweeping her eyes over the sophisticated sensors built into her _Catapult_ and shook her head slightly. "Negative, Mikayla. My sensors report no moving targets, but MagScan is not accurate, and infrared is going to be unreliable."

"Roger, beloved. I'm going to launch a drone to take a look around." Mikayla's 'Mech paused for a second, and launched a drone high into the air to give her a bird's eye view of the city. Data poured over the encrypted laser-link between their 'Mechs and Jarome gasped as she saw the enemy machines coming down the street- they were _close._

"There they are! Mikayla, I'm going to grab some elevation, and engage them from above!" Jarome jammed her feet down on her foot pedals and launched her 65-ton _Catapult_ high into the air on plumes of superheated steam. She was aiming at the peak of a tall, sharp hill that would command the square just ahead of them. She came down hard but square, riding out the bone-jarring thump of the grounding, and as soon as she was squarely planted, she was scanning her sensors, finding the lead Steel Wolf tank. She led the target, and focused in on the ConstructionMech MOD, a monstrosity that carried at least twenty missile tubes in its dump bed.

Just as her reticule burned gold and the lock tone howled in her ears, the DI Schmitt in the lead rocked and exploded, the silvery blur of a Gauss slug and the crimson beams of large and medium lasers blasted into it, shattering armor, sending a gun tube flying, and incinerating the ammunition in an instant. The ConstructionMech tried to target Mikayla, but before the pilot could squeeze his trigger, Jarome's missiles savagely pounded his 'Mech, crushing it into the ground.

Jarome re-targeted on the other side of the building, behind which the Steel Wolves were concealed, and calmly waited until the second DI Schmitt rolled out from behind it. Her advanced sensors locked quickly onto the massive vehicle, and a flight of thirty LRMs crashed into it. Heat roiled over her body, only barely dissipated by her coolant suit and the cool air pumped into her helmet, but it paled next to the blaze visited on the enemy vehicle. Fire vomited from its hatches, and it lay still, burning fiercely. Another web of crimson light and a blur of metal announced the death of the second ConstructionMech, and Jarome moved her 'Mech around the hill, preparing for the inevitable counter-fire from the Wolves.

The last MiningMech charged off down a side street, and disappeared, hidden by the city itself. "Mikayla, can we pursue that way?" Jarome asked, her heart thundering in her throat.

"Negative, Jarome," Mikayla's voice was full of emotion and Jarome shivered slightly at the depth and range of the emotions; this couldn't be an easy fight for her at all. "These alleyways are much too narrow for our machines to safely pass through here. We will have to leave that last machine for the Highlander infantry on the perimeter."

Jarome nodded. "All right, love. Let's move out and find some more trouble to knock out."


	10. Chapter 10

_Tara Drop Port_

_Tara, Northwind _

_Prefecture III, the Republic of the Sphere,_

_February 3134; local winter_

"Incoming, Stan! Break right and suppress!" Michael jammed his control stick left, and ducked his 'Mech behind a building. The Steel Wolves were certainly putting their best efforts in today, that was certain. There was roughly a company of armored infantry coming up, hiding autocannons and missiles in the shattered buildings all around. They were being supported by three Demon Medium Tanks, one Marksman tank, and a _Nova,_ a fifty ton BattleMech that held a stunning array of laser weapons.

Missiles and lasers scorched the building, and large chunks of masonry fell away. Stan ducked out and blasted shells and hard light at the Marksman, blasting and melting armor and knocking its turret out of line. The heavy tank managed to reply, however, slamming twenty missiles into the torso and legs of his _Rifleman_. He ducked back into cover, and Michael winced- it was much too early in the fight to be losing that much armor.

Dodging out around the building, Michael slammed shells from his autocannons into the enemy machine, crushing armor and touching off the missile reloads cycling into the launcher. Even as the tank died, it fired its massive gauss rifle, smashing the hypersonic slug deep into the torso armor of the _Hammerhands_. A yellow light began to flash, warning of possible dysfunction of the medium pulse laser placed there. Michael ignored the light, and jammed his feet down on the foot pedals, launching his 'Mech high into the air.

Targeting a Demon tank, he let fly with his four lasers, which burned through the thinner top armor and vaporized the flamer fuel hidden there with an incandescent flash. Heat roiled inside the cockpit, and sweat dripped down his face and arms despite the efforts of his cooling suit. He grounded, ignoring the heat, and targeted the building directly ahead of him with his Short-Range Missile (SRM) 6-rack. The infantry dug in there desperately hammered out autocannon fire, leaving pockmarks in his armor and blasting burgundy paint off, but the missiles consumed them.

Michael felt sickness rise up in his heart, looking at the devastation in front of him; he had traded out the standard high-explosive armor-piercing missiles for Inferno rounds- the missiles carried a payload of fierce burning napalm, which would overheat enemy machines or, like now, burn any infantryman to death in a gruesome display of pyrotechnics. It was a bad way to die.

_No,_ Michael thought, swinging his machine around and pounding behind cover once more. _There is no good way to die on a battlefield._

Stan carefully edged his machine around the opposite side of the building he had taken cover behind, and managed to take the remaining Demons by surprise. He blasted into the nearest one, sending it cart wheeling across the street like a burning child's toy, but suddenly found himself besieged by the remaining Demon's twin medium lasers and the _Nova'_s 12 Extended-Range medium lasers. The verdant energy savaged his machine, burning off tons of armor, carving into the internal structure, and severing myomer musculature. "Captain!" Stan shouted; his voice was filled with fear and pain. "I can't hold her, sir! My reactor's on the edge!"

Michael felt ice pour over him despite the heat, and crashed through the alley separating him from his lance mate. "Hold on, Stan! Grab some cover, and I'll trash that Steel Wolf son-of-a-bitch!" Quickly analyzing the situation, Michael made a series of decisions; first, despite the damage, Stan was in no immediate danger, provided he wasn't hit anymore- his 'Mech was badly damaged, but the _Nova_ was badly overheated and wouldn't fire again, and the Demon was now behind the _Nova,_ trying to get an angle on Michael.

He flipped over to his missiles and linked their trigger to his cannons, and let fly. Six missiles streaked out in a straight line, plastering the _Nova_ in a burning coat of jellied gasoline. Its already-jerky movements ceased all together as the reactor went into emergency shutdown to prevent a critical power excursion, and the autocannons pounded its ferro-fibrous skin, shattering off armor and destroying two medium lasers outright.

Re-targeting quickly, Michael engaged his lasers, linking them to a second Target Interlock Circuit (TIC), and locked onto the Demon. The twin Victory Heartbeat medium pulse lasers in the chest of the _Hammerhands_ spat out darts of crimson light, joined by the twin ruby spears of the Martell Mediums in the arms. Armor slagged and ran on the Demon, and one of its ER lasers exploded in a shower of energy and sparks. It tried to evade, but buried itself into the side of a building, where it stuck; instants later the hatches popped open and men began to run from the vehicle.

Turning back to the _Nova, _Michael locked his first circuit on again, blasting it with more napalm and depleted uranium from his guns. It shook, and slowly toppled over, as the pilot ejected rather than burn to death in his cockpit. "All right, Stan! Let's get outta here!"

Suiting actions to words, and warning Stan to stay close and let Michael handle the fighting, the two made for Highlander lines. Their trip was stressful, each expecting to be taken under fire by Steel Wolf units that seemed to be everywhere in the city, but they made it to the Highlander checkpoint without a shot being fired. They approached the gate held by Highlander infantry, and paused for a moment; the Highlanders had a land-line to command, and the Steel Wolves were busy jamming everything from military radios to Tri-vid remotes.

A shaking in his ejection seat alerted Michael to a heavy mass approaching. He looked up and smiled as he saw the familiar form of a burgundy _Blade_ approached. "Hey, Stan, look at this! Paladin Crow's coming up to support us."

Stan's voice came back immediately. "That's a good thing, Captain, because I'm riding more holes than 'Mech right now."

The _Blade_ seemed to hesitate a second, then came on, stopping just before the checkpoint. The Highlander infantry made their standard challenge, and Crow's voice rolled out of the external speakers on the machine. "Paladin Ezekiel Crow, on Republic business; let me pass."

Michael's gut froze- let him pass? There was nothing ahead of this line except Steel Wolves and the drop port. He opened a secure channel to Crow, over the tight beam laser COM.

"Paladin Crow, why do you need to go out there unsupported, sir? There's not anything beyond this point but Steel Wolves and the port." Michael watched the _Blade,_ an uncomfortable suspicion dawning on him.

Crow's 'Mech suddenly burst into movement, its autocannon and lasers savaging Stan's already-staggering 'Mech; a flare erupted from his cockpit, and the ejection seat rose on a plume of flame, and the _Rifleman_ crumpled, burning fiercely. Michael screamed in rage and brought his targeting computer online, blasting at the fleeing Paladin, but it was no use- the _Blade _was too fast, and Crow was too good, and he escaped into the murky dawn toward the drop port.

Michael felt hollow, hoping against hope that Stan's ejection hadn't killed him and desperately wanting to hunt Crow down and splatter him all over Northwind. He turned his 'Mech back toward the Highlanders, and back to Stan. "Sergeant," he said to the leader of the Highlander patrol. "Connect me as fast as you can to Control. It seems that our Republic and the Highlanders have been betrayed today."

Anger surged in his chest as he thought of Tara Bishop and Tara Campbell. Tara Bishop had given Michael the word that Campbell and Crow had fallen hard for one another, and it filled him with unaccustomed rage that Crow would betray not only The Republic, but his lover as well. A sudden thought flared in his mind, and his anger was snuffed, leaving a dread feeling in its wake- _Ezekiel Crow hired Jack Farrell, not Countess Campbell._


	11. Chapter 11

_Colonel Ballantrae's Battalion_

_Tara, Northwind _

_Prefecture III, the Republic of the Sphere,_

_February 3134; local winter_

Moving her _Catapult_ at fifty kilometers an hour, covering Mikayla's _Cestus_, Jarome carefully watched her instruments. The Highlanders were putting up a good fight, keeping the Steel Wolves contained, but the question burning bright in her mind was: where are Jack Farrell's mercenaries? They were supposed to move up, and punch a hole in the Steel Wolf lines that the Highlanders (and her own lancemates) could exploit to overrun the dropships disgorging ever-larger numbers of Wolves into the city. _So where are you, Jack?_ She wondered to herself.

A chirp on her COM panel alerted her to a message from a nearby source. She dialed up the power in her communications suite, and strained to make out the words.

_"To all Triarii units, fall back and regroup at grid position two-three Bravo, I repeat-"_ the voice, an unfamiliar one that must belong to a Highlander, was scratchy and rough, broken by static, but still discernible. She cut the link and opened the tight-stream laser link to Mikayla.

"Mikayla, we have movement orders- we're to proceed to grid position two-three Bravo and re-join the Captain and Stan there." Jarome punched up a map of Tara, and located the map point.

"Jarome, my love, I am ready to move there," Mikayla replied, and her _Cestus _turned around a corner- only to be staggered by a blast of long-range missiles. Her 'Mech rocked, and Mikayla made out a short, bitten-off curse in Russian.

Jarome suppressed her initial instincts and locked on to the _Anubis_ that had fired on her love. It sprinted away from Mikayla, and as had happened so often over the past hours, dropped squarely into Jarome's gunsights. She locked her missile system up, the short range canceling the _Anubis'_ stealth coating, and let fly.

Thirty Long Range Missiles shattered the _Anubis, _twisting armor and breaking internal structure. Her medium lasers melted the containment of the fusion reactor, and with a harsh blue flash, the reactor went critical, and twisted bits of 'Mech flew everywhere. She turned her machine, intending to make a quip, but Mikayla's _Cestus wasn't there. _

Jarome slammed her throttles forward, tearing up the ferrocrete beneath her 'Mech's feet, but she didn't care- all she could think about was her Mikayla, possibly lying in her cockpit right _now_, wounded, or-

She couldn't finish the thought, but it jolted her into remembering exactly what she was supposed to be doing. Her training had drilled into her head the absolute imperative to maintain her composure in an emergency, to make certain she didn't add herself to the casualties. She scanned her instruments carefully, launching a drone into the air to give her a bird's-eye view; the scans didn't show anything, but there was certainly something stirring out there, something that was sneaky and big.

Carefully easing her _Catapult _around the corner, her heart turned to ice as she saw Mikayla's _Cestus _sprawled on the ground. Fresh scarring and burns around the cockpit gave mute testimony to the reason behind the machine's fall, but something still didn't add up; Mikayla was a Clan Nova Cat warrior, granted she was Freeborn and not Trueborn, but war still went gene-deep, and it should have taken more than the damage in front of her to knock her out of the fight.

The answer came into Jarome's mind a fraction of a second before the battle computer screeched out a warning. Jarome, heading her instincts, had already jammed her feet down on the foot pedals, and her _Catapult _leapt out of the cross hairs of an enemy _Eyleuka_ an instant before it fired, its Large Laser, twin medium lasers, and missiles burning just beneath her feet. The _Eyleuka_ was an old design, from the 3060's, but its stealth armor had still nearly gotten the drop on her.

However, it was not the most dangerous threat surrounding her today.

Grounding her 'Mech in what had once been a broad boulevard, Jarome carefully sighted in manually on a tall building's vehicle entrance, and let fly with a full thirty missiles; they struck in a fiery maelstrom, and the building, its foundations destroyed, collapsed in on itself. However, the Steel Wolf crew with the Tight-Stream Electro-Magnetic Pulse (TSEMP) ceased to exist. TSEMP was a new weapon, and Jarome had only read about it in the months before the HPG grid collapse. It fired a tightly focused beam of radiation that overloaded and sometimes destroyed electronics. That had been the clue Jarome had needed- Mikayla's _Cestus _hadn't shown any electronic activity at all, and it should have.

Pounding back around the corner, ignoring the heat building around her at the jumping, running, and firing, Jarome engaged her four Martell medium lasers and locked them on the _Eyleuka_, knowing that this was going to be a knife-fight. It fired first, its nine missiles from the innovative multi-missile launcher (MML-9) identified as SRMs, pocked armor, and the lasers scourged more off, adding heat as a complication.

Jarome ignored the damage and pressed the attack, closing the range and playing her blazing lasers over the enemy 'Mech's cockpit. As the range closed to two hundred meters, her LRMs finally locked on, and she savagely stroked the trigger, crashing missiles into the enemy machine. It rocked, one arm torn completely off, armor shattering in a sparkling rain of ferro-ceramics, and turned, running away from the fight. Jarome let it go, letting her heat dissipate through her heat sinks.

She looked down finally, her heart beating painfully in her chest, as she looked at her lover's _Cestus_. Finally, the great machine stirred, a fitful jerk of the legs, and her sensors registered the powering up of a fusion engine. Her heart leaped- Mikayla lived! "Are you all right, Mikayla?"

The COM transmission was distorted and fuzzy; obviously Mikayla's electronics were still barely-functioning. "I yet live, Jarome," she said, her voice strained. "My machine is very much in need of repair, however."

"I can tell," Jarome replied. Her heart thumped in her chest, and she began to worry- the two of them were terribly exposed out here, and their situation was rapidly becoming untenable. Checking her readouts, she confirmed that she only had four more salvos of missiles left- in order to give the _Catapult_ its firepower; the designers had been forced to remain light on ammunition. She had to find her way back to the Highlander's command post, and get more ammunition fast or she and Mikayla would be easy meat. "Can you get your 'Mech under way?"

The _Cestus _stirred again, pulling its hands underneath it and slowly leveraging itself back to its feet. "Yes, Jarome, although I am not sure if I can get my weapons to re-initialize without resetting my core computer, and my reactor core seems to be fluctuating."

That wasn't good at all. If the core's containment had been damaged, a lucky hit would kill Mikayla in a fiery burst of radiation just as swiftly as the _Anubis_ pilot; and if the core computer had been damaged, none of Mikayla's weapons would fire, her sensors, even her ejection system could all be compromised.

Checking over her board, her own situation wasn't all that much better. Her 65-ton _Catapult _had suffered only thirty percent armor loss, but her ammunition was almost gone, and her coolant system was being severely strained by the sharp fighting. Without a repair team for Mikayla and a coolant truck and ammunition team for her, the two of them would be easy meat all too soon. "Right, Mikayla, we need to run for it. Regardless of what happens, you get to the Captain, understand me?"

Mikayla's voice, heavy with emotion and a strange brittleness, responded slowly. "What are you saying, my love?" Mikayla herself, despite being covered in sweat, felt a deep chill. She looked at the _Catapult_ across from her, its heavy armored shell synonymous with the sweet, tiny woman who had anchored Mikayla to the Triarii. If she lost Jarome…Mikayla dragged her mind away from the tarot reading she had done on the _Catapult'_s armored carapace- it had described challenge, and indicated the challenge could be too much for the Warrior who rode it. "I cannot lose you…" she whispered.

"You won't lose me, beloved." Mikayla started in her seat; she hadn't thought she was still transmitting. "I'll follow along right behind you, and we'll make a straight run to the field base, all right?"

Mikayla nodded slowly. "Roger that, my love, Lieutenant," she advanced her throttle, and set the _Cestus _in motion, ignoring the flickering of her screens and clearing her mind and spirit of everything. For years, first as a Freeborn in the Clans, then as a Clanswoman in the military of an inner sphere power, she had felt hatred and contempt, fear and revulsion from every person she met. Every person until she met Jarome. Her dreams and her tarot had been conflicted about her service to The Republic; her dreams had told her of two possible futures- one as a conqueror, riding her 'Mech to glory as all the old Clan warriors had in past centuries, but the other took on the form of her as a lean Nova Cat, scarred but unbroken, fighting a faceless, multi-headed creature in defense of a beautiful Roman woman clad in roses.

Confused by the conflicting images, but all too familiar with the fact that her new regiment's insignia depicted a Roman woman's head on a yellow disk, Mikayla had been convinced that she was to defend the Triarii- until she had met Jarome for the first time. With her high forehead, green eyes, beautiful Roman nose, and loosely curly brown hair, Jarome looked almost textbook-perfect Roman. When Jarome had come to Mikayla, bringing a dozen roses in her 'Mech, Mikayla had been convinced; she had chosen to eschew conquering, and hatred, and revulsion, and had embraced the Inner Sphere woman totally, adopting her Republic as Mikayla's own with total conviction.

Shaking herself, and focusing her spirit on her task at hand, Mikayla felt the spring of strength Jarome had given her welling up from deep inside her. She felt herself slipping into what her Japanese martial arts instructor had told her was _muga_, the state of mind and body as one. Her motions became steadier, and even without the full help of her 'Mech's battle computer, she could feel what her machine was doing, and its movements became sure and steady as well.

Their flight was swift, and Mikayla felt a sense of sorrow and pain seeping into her consciousness. Tara had been a lovely city before Anastasia Kerensky and her Steel Wolves had come here, but now it was burning, bathed in blood and terror. There had been no time to evacuate civilians, and there would be many casualties after the Wolves were repulsed… if they were repulsed.

With a jolt, Mikayla threw herself against her control sticks, and her _Cestus _moved in the path of a hidden Steel Wolf _Behemoth II_ that had hidden itself carefully in the basement of another parking garage. The terrified crew attempted to bring her 'Mech down, firing their main weapons. Fire and explosions wracked her machine, and burning neuro-feedback poured into her skull. Despite her swimming vision and the pain of being thrown against her restraints, Mikayla kept her _Cestus_ upright. Her guns didn't function, her targeting computer still locked up, but her _Cestus _had one advantage that Jarome's _Catapult_ did not- it had hands.

Reaching down, she grabbed hold of the Poland Main Model C Gauss rifle that was housed in the turret of the massive tank and yanked. Myomer pseudo-muscles screamed in protest, and Mikayla felt the bones of her 'Mech shaking, but the turret slowly toppled, torn from the enemy machine. Hatches flew open, and desperate Steel Wolf tankers sprinted toward their dropships, their morale utterly broken.

Mikayla slowly stood her 'Mech upright, her chest heaving as the terror of the close combat faded from her body. She was slicked in sweat, and not all of it was from the moderate heat in her cockpit- if the Behemoth had fired its two banks of LRMs, she'd have been dead instantly. The damage from a point-blank Gauss rifle and large laser had been bad enough, destroying almost seventy percent of her frontal armor and physically denting the internal structure.

Finally, Mikayla became aware of the desperate, near-hysterical calls from Jarome. "I am all right, Jarome. There was a _Behemoth II _in this parking garage, waiting to ambush you."

"Good God, Mikayla! I understand that you want to fight, but please, _please_ don't do that again!" Jarome's voice was filled with fear, and with a start that spread a warm pink blush across her cheeks, Mikayla realized Jarome feared for _her_, and not the enemy.

"I promise, Jarome, I will not frighten you so again," Mikayla said, her voice warm with love and joy.

Jarome's _Catapult_ stared at her for a long second. "Thank you, Mikayla. Let's just get back to the rendezvous point, all right?"


	12. Chapter 12

_Colonel Ballantrae's Battalion_

_Tara, Northwind _

_Prefecture III, the Republic of the Sphere,_

_February 3134; local winter_

Drawing her _Catapult_ up in front of a waiting Class 135-K coolant truck, Jarome let out a gentle sigh and brought her 'Mech into standby mode, needing only a fast voiceprint check to reactivate it. She unbuckled, and clambered out of her 'Mech, swiftly descending the chain ladder.

Reaching the foot of the 'Mech, she shivered as a cold, clammy breeze swept down over her overheated body. Grateful for her jumpsuit, she glanced around, looking for Mikayla, Stan, and the Captain. A pair of strong hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around. Before she could say anything, Mikayla had seized her face and kissed her deeply.

For a long, euphoric moment, Mikayla was all Jarome felt. When Mikayla released her and pulled back fractionally, she whispered "I love you, Jarome."

Jarome smiled and hugged Mikayla tightly. "I love you too, Mikayla."

A soft scrape of boots brought the two women back to what they were doing, and both turned. Jarome noted absently that while Mikayla- grudgingly- let Jarome go, her hand slipped into Jarome's, locking their fingers together. Jarome blushed and smiled softly.

Captain O'Malley stepped forward, his face carefully showing no surprise or upset at the embrace he had to have seen. "The technicians will be here in just a few moments to effect whatever repairs they can to our machines. I have to brief you, however." He paused, and Jarome felt the pain rolling off of her Captain. "There's no easy way to say this, so I won't even try. Paladin Ezekiel Crow has betrayed us, and done it thoroughly."

Mikayla gasped quietly, and Jarome, without thinking, turned and buried her face in Mikayla's chest, turning horrified eyes to her Captain. "How?" She asked in a small voice.

O'Malley took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and looking every ounce the commander. "He attempted to cross the checkpoint Stan and I were at. He declared himself on Republic business, and when I called him out on what that business was, he opened fire on Stan. Stan's 'Mech was already badly damaged, and is currently listed as destroyed. Stan himself ejected clean, but he hit a light pole on the way down. The docs say he'll be all right, but he's out of the fight for a couple weeks at least.

"Crow himself managed to escape, and I think he got to a transport and ran for it. The bastard contacted Farrell's mercenaries before he ran, and now the mercenaries are holding us and the Highlander's in the city for the Wolves to grind into dogmeat."

Mikayla's voice, iron-hard and cold as frost on tundra, spoke next. "How can that be, Star Captain?" She asked, her speech slipping back to Clan. "Did the mercenaries not sign a contract with The Republic?"

O'Malley shook his head. "That's the damnable misery of it. Farrell signed his contract with Crow, not the Countess or The Republic, which means that legally, they aren't breaking contract." He took a deep breath. "So. As soon as we can refit the 'Mechs, we're going to help the Highlanders attempt a breakout. Reinforcements are on the way, so we have to hold the enemy back for as long as we can. Worse, we have to be conspicuously present, because word is flying through the ranks that Crow is gone, and maybe we aren't trustworthy either. The Countess supports us, and wants you both to know that she's been watching your progress this morning, and she's grateful for your fight." O'Malley drew himself up and saluted them. "And I want you to know that I'm damn proud of you, both for fighting and for being strong for each other."

Mikayla and Jarome came to attention and returned the salute. Mikayla spoke first: "Thank you, Captain. For The Republic, sir."

O'Malley's hand snapped down. "For the Republic, Warrant Officer, and for us," he turned and moved off, calling out to technicians in Republic uniforms running toward the battered 'Mechs. Several already swarmed over his _Hammerhands_, replenishing ammunition and rigging replacement armor slabs.

Mikayla turned to Jarome, and Jarome reached up, caressing her face with a gentle hand. Her mind was still skidding over the thought that a Paladin had abandoned them, but Mikayla's clear green eyes soothed her, and her heart filled her with warmth. Mikayla smiled, running a finger over Jarome's chest until it found the key, then turned and walked over to her 'Mech to meet her tech Chief.

Jarome took a deep breath, and turned to her own tech chief, Staff Sergeant Galan. He sketched a salute and looked over her 'Mech, already making notes on his ubiquitous clipboard. She turned and began to brief him on what she needed done to her 'Mech.


	13. Chapter 13

_Colonel Ballantrae's Battalion_

_Tara, Northwind _

_Prefecture III, the Republic of the Sphere,_

_February 3134; local winter_

Eyes closed and long legs folded underneath her, Mikayla let her spirit wander, looking through the maelstrom of war for truth. She had never been able to achieve enough clarity as a Nova Cat to really see anything in a vision before, but now, for some reason, in this instant, she felt her spirit stretching itself away from her body for the first time. Perhaps it had been her close brush with death, or perhaps it was the rush of battle, _or_, a small voice whispered to her, _perhaps it is Jarome._

She shrugged mentally- if Jarome was the cause behind her sudden Awakening, she would not complain. Abruptly, her focus was captured with the vision of a peregrine, carefully sighting in on a prey animal far below. The falcon focused itself, drew in its wings, and dove, striking the prey animal cleanly long before it realized its danger. Perfect, clean, without fear….

Mikayla's eyes snapped open as she came back to herself. Staff Sergeant Field looked at her, an expectant look on his face. "Ma'am? There's nothing we can do for the targeting computer with the parts we have on hand. We're going to have to replace it, and the only replacement we've got is aboard our dropship, on the drop-port tarmac."

Nodding slowly, Mikayla rose, fluid grace rippling her taut muscles. "That is fine, Staff Sergeant. Will you please disconnect the computer entirely and tie the fire controls directly into my cockpit?"

Field gaped for an instant, and then nodded. "Yes ma'am. We already flushed the coolant and checked over the rest of the systems, and found no faults. You'll have to be a little careful of the reactor, because it's been knocked about a fair amount. There's nothing that can be done by us, but I want you to be aware of it. Finally, we've replaced most of the armor lost, so while your 'Mech may look a little rag-tag, it'll be well protected."

"Thank you, Staff Sergeant. I very much appreciate the efforts of you and your team. I will be along when you are finished to mount up." Mikayla turned and slowly walked over to Jarome's 'Mech. Its armor had been repaired as well, stark gray replacement slabs showing among the burgundy. Jarome herself stood, bundled against the cold in a heavy overcoat a thoughtful Northwinder had brought over, drinking slowly from a bottle of electrolytes.

Seeing her like this, lost in thought, her face relaxed, Mikayla saw just how beautiful Jarome was. It was all too easy to lose track of that in how hard Jarome could fight, and how passionately she could make love; Mikayla remembered that Jarome was just twenty three years old. Smiling faintly, she walked silently up behind Jarome, and carefully planted a kiss on the crown of her head, before stepping back.

Jarome wheeled a complaint on her lips that dissolved instantly into a warm smile as she realized who her visitor was. "Mikayla! You all ready to head back in?"

"Not quite yet, beloved. My tech chief has to take out my battle computer first." Mikayla replied.

"Wait," Jarome's voice was filled with confusion and doubt. "You're telling me that you're going to take your 'Mech back into battle without a targeting system?"

Mikayla laughed suddenly, like bells ringing on a warm day. "Indeed I am. Staff Sergeant Field and his crew are going to tie my weapons directly into my cockpit so I will have direct control over them. I will be the targeting computer for my machine today."

Jarome shook her head slowly, admiringly. "Well, no one can say you don't have guts, Mikayla." She suddenly leaned in and stood on tip toe, kissing Mikayla softly on the lips, her hands gripping Mikayla's upper arms. She pulled back, and seemed ready to say something else, when a piercing whistle cut the air. "Triarii! Mount up and prepare for a fight! The Steel Wolves are coming, and we must be ready to repulse them!"

Captain O'Malley stood on top of an empty autocannon ammunition crate, its contents almost certainly in the ammunition bays of his 'Mech. "To your stations, soldiers of The Republic!" With a cheer, technicians and the small group of devoted infantry that had accompanied the lance to Northwind raced to their positions, ready to fight.

Turning to Mikayla, Jarome gave her hand a squeeze, and turned to scramble up the chain ladder to her cockpit. She threw herself into her ejection seat, swiftly strapping in and connecting her coolant lines. Seating her neurohelmet on her head and sealing the collar, she brought her 'Mech out of standby and opened a COM channel to Captain O'Malley. "Sir, this is Triarii Two. I'm ready to roll out whenever you are, sir."

Michael's voice poured back into her ears, hard and warm. "Very good, Jarome. There's an enemy incursion coming, and it appears that Farrell's mercenaries are going to make our lives difficult. Captain Bishop is moving to take care of that particular threat, but it's down to us to stop the Wolves from getting in the front door. So form up on me, and let's press the Tin Puppies as hard as we can. I'll coordinate with Control so that Mikayla can find us."

Jarome nodded and moved her 'Mech into a supporting position just behind and to the left of Michael's _Hammerhands_. Looking at the menacing barrels of the twin Mydron autocannons, Jarome shivered. In the tight confines of a city, those massive weapons could tear anything apart in seconds. Michael moved his 'Mech quickly down the boulevard, twisting his torso left and right, searching for a target. Jarome throttled up as well, staying close. Her four Martell medium lasers would serve admirably in the tight confines of a city fight, but her twin LRM-15 racks would have a very limited use here. She might have to fire very fast, and without a target lock that would cost valuable seconds, the missiles would be very much inaccurate.

Still, she thought to herself. If we ever get to the long sightlines outside of down town, we'll need those LRMs very badly. She shook her head, and focused on maintaining proper distance from Michael and watching her sensors carefully. Within minutes, Michael opened the laser COM again.

"Heads up, Jarome; we're entering Indian country now. Be on your guard, and if you sight the enemy, let me know and we'll team up on them. Watch your rear arc, too- if you get unsure or think that you're being targeted, jump first and ask questions later."

"Roger that, leader," Jarome responded. She swallowed and her hand strayed to her throat, where the key to the handcuffs on Mikayla's wrist still glinted. "I've got your back, sir." The two BattleMechs moved carefully and quickly, and Jarome thought back to the very first training mission she'd had with O'Malley, back on Murchison. _That seems like a thousand years ago,_ she thought ruefully. At least now she would have the tools and training to evade any ambushes around here.

She moved carefully, and was not surprised when her sensors chirped, indicating an enemy machine moving towards them. "Heads up, Captain," she called. "I've got a bogey moving in on our position!"

"Roger that, Lieutenant," Michael's voice was rock steady, and for a blazing, irreverent moment, she wondered if a stripper bursting from a birthday cake would be enough to rattle him. Michael's 'Mech did a fast stutter-step around a building, and abrupt plumes of fire accompanied the thunderous roar of his autocannons firing. "One IndustrialMech MOD, two Jousts and a team of Elementals up here, Jarome. Stand by-"

Jarome felt an agonizing moment of fear at the thought of the Elementals. Genetically modified super soldiers, they could get close to her, peel open the hatch above her, and spray her with a blazing mass of jellied fuel, or tear her bodily from her 'Mech…. Suddenly, a target appeared on her board.

"Target acquired. Full spread of missiles as fast as you can, Jarome." Michael's voice over the COM array was accompanied by the concussive thunder of his autocannons, rigged for automatic fire, and the whine of pulse lasers blazing away. Jarome mashed her primary trigger without hesitation, her _Catapult_ rocking down and back as thirty missiles roared away. As soon as the last missile jumped from the rack, she threw her throttles forward, intending to get into the fight as fast as she could.

As Jarome cleared the building, her eyes widened. One Joust lay on its side, burning, the second vomited flame from neat holes punched by lasers and autocannons, and blackened shapes on the ground indicated where the Elementals had once stood. Michael's _Hammerhands_ ducked around the stream of 50mm autocannon fire pouring from a Steel Wolf ConstructionMech MOD, and fire poured from the _Hammerhands'_ twin AC/10s, shattering industrial armor and staggering the 'Mech.

Jarome grinned savagely and trigged her quartet of medium lasers, and burned away the standard internal-combustion engine on the enemy machine, which sagged and collapsed.

"Excellent shooting, Jarome!" Michael's voice was filled with pride, and Jarome grinned widely at her success. "Now, let's reset ourselves and secure this area so that the enemy can't push down it again and-"

Michael's words were cut off instantly as missiles slammed down into his 'Mech. The _Hammerhands _seemed to disappear in fire and smoke, and for the second time that night Jarome's heart froze as she watched someone she loved pummeled by an LRM strike. However, just as her fear peaked, Michael's voice cracked over the COM and his _Hammerhands_ rose out of the destructive rain on a plume of silver fire and white smoke. "Heads up, Jarome! My sensors read a new set of enemy machines! Looks like a _Zeus, _a _Tundra Wolf_, and some supporting armor, maybe a pair of Condors!"

Jarome felt fear spike through her. A _Zeus _was an 80 ton powerhouse, the _Tundra Wolf _carried a ten ton weight advantage over her _Catapult,_ and each Condor tipped the scales at fifty tons- this was more than the two of them could possibly handle. Just as the fear began to erode her resolve, Jarome realized that if she and Michael didn't stop this push, and stop it cold, then the Wolves would be in the Highlander's command center, where her dear Mikayla still waited for her 'Mech to be repaired.

If the Wolves got in there, they would show no mercy, and no restraint.

Fired by a sudden blaze of love and anger, Mikayla brought her crosshairs around on the _Zeus, _letting fly with a full spread of missiles and all four of her lasers all at once, pummeling the huge machine with a furious assault. Heat swirled around her, and she was soaked instantly in sweat, but she blinked it out of her eyes and slammed her throttles open, beginning a deadly dance of fire and maneuver in the tight confines of the square she found herself in.

Michael's 'Mech moved as well, terminating its jump with both feet buried in the hull of one of the Condor tanks. The fifty ton hovercraft seemed to ripple under the weight of the _Hammerhands_, and its LRM-15 rack blasting apart in a fierce display of pyrotechnics. Michael stepped his 'Mech of the mangled remains of the enemy machine, and re-targeted on the _Tundra Wolf_. It cut loose with a twin ER PPC blast, burning deep into the _Hammerhands'_ right leg, shattering armor and leaving a glowing crater there. Michael returned its attentions with a focused, devastating salvo of his own, his twin autocannons, all four of his lasers and his SRM rack all linking the two machines for a breathless instant.

The _Tundra Wolf_ shook violently as the autocannons shattered armor to dust, the lasers burned deep into internal structure, and finally, much to Jarome's horror, was engulfed in a sheet of sticky fire as the inferno rounds from the SRM launcher engulfed it. The _Tundra Wolf _pilot staggered back disoriented, broiling, and terrified, crashing into a building and going over backwards, its heatsinks incapable of dealing with the heat from the PPCs and the burning Inferno gel. An instant later, the _Wolf_ went rigid, its Fusion power plant shutting down to deal with the heat.

Michael stood tall, a glorious vision for a long second, but his victory had left him vulnerable. The _Zeus_ pilot turned, and before Jarome could do anything, unleashed a devastating volley of its own. The pale blue-green helix of a Gauss rifle, smoky white contrails of LRMs, and the crimson lances of large laser and two medium lasers savaged his armor, and it was Michael's turn to tumble to the pavement, his 'Mech crashed to the ground, buckling pavement, and lay still, and didn't move at all.

Jarome felt an icy spike drive into her as she automatically dodged the fire from the condor buzzing around her. If that _Zeus _turned its attention to her… fifteen tons heavier, with more armament, more armor, more everything….

_Wait,_ she thought. _Not more everything. I'm faster, and I can jump._ Swiftly targeting the Condor, praying desperately that the _Zeus_ was close to redline after that concentrated salvo, Jarome lit the Condor up with her medium lasers at close range, carefully aiming for the missile rack. Her red beams lanced through the thinner top armor of the machine, and found one of the missile warheads buried there. With a spectacular blast that sent fragments of tank in every direction, the tank blew apart.

Not waiting around to bask in her victory, Jarome slammed her feet down on the foot pedals, and her 'Mech roared into the air, soaring straight past the _Zeus _ and grounding behind a stout building, what appeared to be an office space. Heat swirled around her, and her vision swam as sweat dripped into her eyes. She blinked fiercely, and tried to jockey herself around. She would have to get out from behind these buildings and launch more missiles into the enemy; try to get that _Zeus _down for the count before it tore her apart.

She walked her 'Mech, knowing she was as fast there as her enemy was in a flat sprint, and edged carefully around the corner in front of her. _There he is!_ She thought, and brought her crosshairs down solidly on the enemy 'Mech. Her reticule burned gold, and she mashed the trigger down. Her 'Mech rocked back again, its clawed feet spreading and digging in as the missiles whooshed away. They pounded into the _Zeus,_ and she grinned.

A grin that dies abruptly as missiles and a Gauss slug smashed into her 'Mech, knocking her torso a few degrees to the left and shattering off tons of armor. The _Zeus _stalked forward, the craters in its armor smoking, and drew a bead on her with its lasers. _Screw this,_ she thought, and shoved her footpedals to the floorboard again.

Nothing happened.

As she flinched back from the bloody light playing over her 'Mech, savaging the armor, she realized with horror that something had gone wrong with her jump system- her second advantage had been canceled out. And as she ran forward, trying to keep out from the _Zeus_' targeting computer, she saw the _Tundra Wolf_ staggering to its feet as well, its emergency shutdown having bled the heat away.

And now, outnumbered two to one, outmassed by nearly a hundred tons, and unable to run away, she knew that she was going to die. Taking a deep breath, she squared herself and fired at the _Tundra Wolf, _trying to capitalize on the damage Michael had done. Her missiles flew straight and true, shattering yet more armor on the heavy Clan machine, and chopping great chips out of ferro-fibrous "bones", but she knew instinctively that it wasn't going to be enough.

The two enemy machines responded with a concerted fusillade that threw her _Catapult_ over on its back. The impact of the weapons fire and the impact of the ground snapped her right shoulder restraint, and with a bloom of agony, her left collarbone broke. Red warning lights bathed her 'Mech in a bloody glow, and she gasped for air, a crack in her faceplate pouring hot, humid air into her lungs.

She watched with horror as the _Tundra Wolf _stepped up to her 'Mech and raised a huge foot- _it's going to crush me!_ She thought, and desperately scrabbled for the ejection handle. Even if she found it in time, she'd eject straight into the ground, where she'd die instantly-

Four crimson beams lit the _Tundra Wolf _up, slagging the last of its torso armor, and a ghostly blue-green helix lanced into it, heralding a Gauss strike. The _Tundra Wolf_ staggered, obviously severely damaged, and began to run, igniting its jumpjets in a desperate bid for escape. A _whoosh_ of flame erupting alerted Jarome to Michaels' return to the lopsided contest as his Inferno rounds coated the _Zeus _this time.

Jarome slowly began to bring her machine back to its feet, shaky and badly damaged though it was. Her right foot slipped, and she was about to crash back to the ground, when massive mechanical hands gripped her 'Mech and steadied it, helping her to her feet. Looking over through her broad ferroglass canopy, she smiled broadly as she saw it was Mikayla in her _Cestus,_ arriving in the nick of time.

Across the square, the _Zeus_ was under Michael's guns, the MechWarrior standing shivering on the ground. A team of Republic salvage troops ran up, snatching the warrior and carrying hijack tools up to the cockpit; apparently, Michael wanted to hold onto that _Zeus_, probably for Stan. Glancing back at the _Cestus, _Mikayla blew Jarome a kiss through the ferroglass, and Jarome grinned, returning it.

Michael's voice, tired and strained, crackled over the line. "I don't know how she did it, but Tara took her _Pack Hunter_ and beat Jack Farrell in his _Jupiter,_ and a linkup between us and the Highlander relief column is under way. So, all together now, we're gonna cover the retreat of our support staff and get the hell out of here. Mikayla, you up front, and I'm walking drag. Jarome, you stay in the middle, and I want no heroics from you, understand? You've been heroic enough today."

Jarome nodded weakly. "I understand, Captain. No heroics." She carefully throttled up, walking alongside the freshly captured _Zeus_, with the coolant trucks, ammunition carriers, and repair vehicles in front of and behind her. Mikayla trotted her 'Mech up to the lead position. And it dawned on her that Mikayla had made her shots without a targeting computer, without a single miss. She grinned broadly- that was absolutely the woman she loved.


	14. Chapter 14

_Highlander Command Post_

_Foothills above Tara, Northwind _

_Prefecture III, the Republic of the Sphere,_

_February 3134; local winter_

Watching the distant lights of the dropships leaving Tara, Michael shook his head. The Steel Wolves had sent an armored column to take the Castle Northwind, and an enterprising infantry company had trapped then in the box canyon the Castle had rested in, demolishing the castle and then demolishing the armor as well. After word had come down of that little misadventure, Anastasia Kerensky had ordered her troops to burn anything that would catch, and jumped aboard their dropships. Word was, the Wolves were leaving Northwind, headed for parts unknown, but the Highlanders would be leaving for Terra, as fast as they could get there.

Looking around, he saw a pair of familiar figures holding tight to each other behind a truck, probably thinking no one was watching. He grinned and shrugged; Mikayla had been absolutely furious when the Steel Wolves had broken Jarome's collarbone. It would heal, helped along by the Highlander medical teams, but Mikayla was still almighty infuriated that the Wolves had been willing to crush Jarome underfoot anyway.

A soft crunch alerted him to the arrival of another person, and a familiar taste of sweat and cherry blossom told him it was Tara Bishop. "Hey, Tara," he said, and patted the rock next to him. "Care to have a seat?"

Tara Bishop nestled close to him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his lap. "I'm glad to see you missed me," she laughed.

"Indeed I did, Miss Bishop." He kissed her gently, and she wrapped her arms around him. "Gotta get that in while I can; we're off to Terra, aren't we?"

She stiffened, and looked at him sharply. "How could you know that? I just found out a few minutes ago!"

Michael waved at the retreating Dropships. "There's only one prize Anastasia would want more than Northwind, babe."

Tara nodded heavily and Michael cradled her tightly to him, feeling her small body shake. "Aye. We're off to Terra, to catch the Wolves, and to break 'em."

Looking over at the battered shapes of his 'Mechs, right next to the hospital tent where Stan still lay recovering, Michael stroked Tara's hair. The _Rifleman_ was unsalvageable, but it was being used to repair the _Zeus_ captured in the city, and Stan had donated its electronics and targeting computer to be used in repairs on Mikayla's _Cestus,_ a big hearted decision that had earned him a hug and a kiss from Mikayla and Jarome both. He was probably still smiling. "Aye, Tara. We'll break the Wolves, and run down that bastard Crow. For The Republic; and for us."


	15. Chapter 15

_The Fort_

_Northwind_

_Prefecture III_

_February 3134; local winter_

Michael smiled faintly, watching as his technicians poured over the battered machines of the lance. The _Rifleman_ had been a total loss, its fusion reactor totaled by that bastard Crow, but the _Zeus _occupied its bay, its paint sandblasted off and being replaced with Republic burgundy and gray. Michael had run its serial number, and had laughed when it had come back as assigned to the Republic Militia in the eighth prefecture; that made the machine Republic property.

Already Stan was griping to the doctors, trying to convince them that his bruised liver and collapsed lung shouldn't stop him from helping out with the repairs on the huge machine. The doctors weren't convinced in the slightest, but Staff Sergeant Bryn, Stan's crew chief, had been keeping him in the loop anyway. Already the machine had been stripped, its systems checked, and the armor replaced. As Michael watched, Bryn carefully began painting the Triarii insignia on the right breast of the machine, just below the cockpit. He smiled quietly; Bryn had damn near had an aneurysm when he'd told her that Stan had been hurt. She really felt something for Stan that was obvious now. _Seems like my whole command needs to get married to somebody_, he thought ruefully.

Looking around, he saw that the other machines were being worked on with an equal fervor. Mikayla's _Cestus _was being torn down, its internal structure straightened and the computer replaced with the Garret D2j that Stan had donated from his wrecked _Rifleman_. That would be a good match, Michael mused. With the Nova Cat's deep interest in marksmanship, Mikayla was already and incredible sharpshooter. Adding the Garret system could only make her even better. Jarome's _Catapult_ was almost done being repaired; hers had been the least difficult to repair, the modular design of the new _Catapult_ built for The Republic making life substantially easier. Mikayla stood close to Jarome, her eyes firmly focused on Jarome. Jarome herself watched the repair work progressing, her left arm bound tightly across her chest. The collarbone would heal, helped along by the surgeons and bone-knit drugs.

His own _Hammerhands_ hadn't been damaged too badly. The technicians had repaired the medium laser that was malfunctioning, and the armor had been replaced. He hadn't suffered anything worse than some bruises, but his _Hammerhands_ had needed a lot of armor, as well as a left shoulder actuator. The electronics had taken a beating, but everything had survived. It had been a close fight, though. If General Griffin hadn't arrived, if Tara hadn't beaten Farrell, if the _Hammerhands_ hadn't been built to survive… well, there was no point in fretting about what if. They would be loading the _Swift Wind_, which had somehow survived the Wolf incursion unharmed in less than four hours, departing for Terra to stop the Steel Wolves there.

The problem was that Anastasia Kerensky hadn't needed to wait a week to assemble her troops- she had just left whatever couldn't be conveniently carried, and sabotaged the hell out of the main drop port before leaving like the mean bitch she was. So she had at least a week's head start on the Northwind Highlanders now. Still, it would give his team a chance to heal and pull themselves together, and give the technical crews time to work more on the 'Mechs, as they traveled from Northwind to Terra. He smiled faintly. He was looking forward to running the Wolves down and taking them out permanently.


	16. Chapter 16

_Belgorod and Vicinity_

_Terra_

_Prefecture X_

_March 3134; local winter_

Stan Marcus dragged his new _Zeus _right and tried to target Captain O'Malley's _Hammerhands_ with his LRMs. The reticule swept over the 'Mech, a clear shot! Now, if only he could hold the lock for three seconds, the LRMs would guide, and there'd be all kinds of points for the battle computer!

With a whine, Stan's electronics flickered and died. Again. "Bloody hell!" Stan swore and thumped his fist into the battle computer's housing, futilely trying to get it to start up again. _Nope, nothing's getting that started again, except shutting it all down and restarting it from scratch,_ he thought sourly. He'd thought he was getting a second chance, a real upgrade from his _Rifleman_, but the _Zeus_' systems had proven to be ancient and unreliable, at best. The headaches had began with the neural interface, the computer incapable of holding a neural pattern, and then the reactor controls had fritzed, shutting the reactor down without warning.

The targeting computer was the most stubborn problem, though. It was unpredictable, and would shut down or target random objects without warning. Try as they might, none of the technical crew, Republic or Highlander, had been able to sort it out. "Sorry, Captain, my computer's crashed again, nothing I can do for it but head back to the barn and reinitialize it again."

O'Malley's voice came back immediately. "Damn. All right, Stan, let's head in, and see if we can figure the blasted thing out." His _Hammerhands_ moved back toward the maintenance area. Stan shut the _Zeus_ down, leaving its batteries on, and cursed quietly as he opened the hatch. Anger simmered inside him, and he abruptly kicked the computer. It simply beeped, warning him that he could damage the hard drive.

A sudden shadow spread across him, and he looked up, startled. Mikayla's head and shoulders appeared, and Stan had to remind himself to mind his manners and not stare at that lovely bosom. "What's up, Mikayla?"

She looked at him, those strange green eyes distant, alien… Clan. "You need to talk to the machine, Stan. It's so old, it's got a spirit. If you don't talk to her, she won't have any reason to listen to you, much less obey you." She gestured insistently, pointing at the computer. "Just talk. Tell the _Zeus_ what you need, what you're going to do."

Stan looked at her, firmly convinced she was pranking him, but the look in her eyes made him take a deep breath and turn back to the 'Mech's control panel. "All right," he whispered. "Why not? Okay, _Zeus,_ I'm Stan Marcus. I'm trying to protect The Republic, just like you were supposed to from the start. You can't keep shorting out like you have been, or it's going to get us both killed, all right?" Stan jerked in surprise as every screen and electronic flared back into life. "What the hell?"

Mikayla laughed a silvery bell. "I told you, Stan," she said. "You have to talk to the spirit in the machine. You do that, and she'll never fail you!" Mikayla disappeared, and the hatch sealed. Stan saw a shape flit over the side, and smiled a little.

"All right then, _Zeus_," he whispered. "Why don't we try going again against the captain?"


	17. Chapter 17

_Belgorod and Vicinity_

_Terra_

_Prefecture X_

_March 3134; local winter_

Sitting back in his camp chair with a groan, Michael rubbed his eyes and refocused on the data on the screen in front of him. The repairs on his machines were proceeding swiftly, the tech crews running balls out for weeks now, all the way from Northwind to here, on the old Russian steppe. His own _Hammerhands_ was complete, as was Mikayla's _Cestus._ Jarome's _Catapult_ had suffered a mishap in training, its jump jets still balky, but her techs had joined forces with Mikayla's to run down the shorts. Stan's _Zeus_ had been a huge headache, resisting every effort by the technicians to run down the electronic faults. The previous day, however, the _Zeus_' problems had abruptly resolved, and Stan was a whole lot happier with the huge machine.

If only everything else were proceeding as neatly as the repairs were. Tara had come in just hours before, in tears of rage and sorrow, spitting out a barely coherent account of the Countesses miserable interview with Exarch Redburn. The damnable traitor Crow had made it to Terra first, and had poisoned the mind of the Exarch, and now Redburn believed that the Highlanders were in bed with the Steel Wolves, waiting to open the door for them. Michael had comforted Tara as best he could, but he felt his own anger as well, knowing full well that the Exarch had ignored his own report, the accounts from his lance mates. Tara was stretched out in his cot now, deeply asleep, and Michael smiled faintly. The poor woman had barely slept in the past weeks, desperately trying to keep the Countess up and running herself.

If the Exarch chose to believe Crow, then he was within his rights to disband the Highlanders entirely; Michael knew that his own career was probably already over. He was expecting the relief of command notice at any moment. Turning away from the screen, he looked over at Tara, her blonde hair catching blue highlights from the screen and her bare shoulder peeking out from under the blanket. _The hell with it,_ he thought. _If nothing else, I'm sure the Countess can find room for a few out-of-work military types, if it comes down to it._ With a rueful smile, he turned off the screen and returned to Tara.


	18. Chapter 18

_Highlander Encampment_

_Terra_

_Prefecture X_

_April 3134; local spring_

Standing tall in the communications tent, Michael watched carefully as his Prefect and his lover worked tirelessly, trying to figure out precisely who and what the dropships hurtling toward Terra were. There was an electric buzz throughout the Highlander ranks; Owain Jones' package of incriminating data had been recovered by Jonah Levin, and the Highlanders were vindicated. Now, at last, it looked like the Steel Wolves had arrived, and it was going to be the Highlanders, supported by his Triarii, that put a stop to them.

An abrupt, shrill warble erupted from the main speaker that linked to the all-frequencies circuit. A voice poured through, arrogant and haughty: "People of Terra!" it- no, she- said. Everyone in the tent froze, and Michael locked eyes with Tara Bishop's. Both of them recognized the voice.

The voice continued unabated. "We are the Steel Wolves, and we have come to take back what should have been yours. None can dispute our right." Anastasia Kerensky's voice filled the tent, ringing from the speaker. _We'll see about that,_ Michael thought.

Sure enough, Tara Campbell picked up the microphone and nodded to her radio technician, who opened the channel. "I am Tara Campbell, Prefect of Prefecture III and Countess of Northwind, and I do dispute it."

"Will you fight me for it, Countess?" Kerensky's voice was hard and dangerous.

"Gladly," Tara Campbell replied, her eyes blazing. "It's what I came all this way to do. I'd begun to think that you were going to disappoint me and not show up."

"I would never do that. Where shall we meet?"

"Here. On the plains outside Belgorod DropPort. Just the two of us. 'Mech against 'Mech."

"Oh, no, Countess. I will not deny my Wolves a battle, not when I have brought them so far for it."

The Countess spoke once more, her voice low and steady. Michael thought in an instant _this is not a woman I would ever want to cross._ "Bring your army then. My Highlanders will stand with me, for The Republic of the Sphere."

"The Republic is hollow and already dead. We fight for the possession of Terra.

With a pop, another voice, this one horribly familiar, blared through. "Anastasia Kerensky! This is Ezekiel Crow, Paladin of the Sphere, and I challenge you to finish the combat between us that began last year on the plains of Tara."

The Countess, eyes blazing and face white with fury, snatched up the microphone once more. "Ezekiel Crow, you damnable traitor-if you want to fight Anastasia Kerensky, you'll have to through me first. This battle is mine!"

Anastasia broke in with a laugh that was disturbingly mad. "Countess, Paladin," she said, still chuckling, "you will have to settle this one between yourselves. The winner leads the Highlanders- and then we fight."


	19. Chapter 19

_Countryside near Belgorod_

_Terra_

_Prefecture X_

_April 3134, Local spring_

Facing the enemy from thirty feet in the air, wrapped in ferro-fibrous armor and electronics, Stan Marcus felt the fluttering in his stomach worsen. This was no anti-pirate raid or taking on some radical group of losers and half-assed wanna-bes, no, he was engaging some of the best warriors the Inner Sphere had to offer, warriors whipped into frenzy and fanatically loyal to their leader. _Well,_ he thought ruefully. _At least my machine is ready to fight here._

That was an understatement; his _Zeus_, responding to his words, had suddenly cleared of all of its electronic woes, and was beginning to really feel like _his_ machine. Standing firm on the plains of Old Russia, he felt a chill creep up his back- this was what he had signed up for, what he had wanted all his life. The Republic, the same Republic that had given his family life and prosperity, was his to defend. With his 'Mech under him, painted burgundy and gray, the insignia of The Republic and the III Triarii displayed proudly on its chest.

He listened closely to the command circuit; Tara Campbell was duking it out with Crow. Crow was dashing in and out, wearing Campbell down. He heard Tara Campbell call in an LRM strike, boxing Crow into a small arena surrounded by impassable mud. In seconds, it was all over, Crow's 'Mech shattered and burning by the edge of Tara Campbell's depleted-uranium axe.

Suddenly, Michael's voice broke through the COM channel. "Triarii, listen up. The Steel Wolves are on their way, and it's down to us and the Highlanders to break 'em. Don't worry about the air- our fighters are tying down the Steel Wolf aerospace so they won't have time for us. Advance, stay loose, and kill anything that wears the Steel Wolf!"

Stan grinned tightly and advanced his throttle. The _Zeus_ wasn't as fast as his _Rifleman_ had been, but speed wasn't all that necessary now. The enemy would come to him soon enough, and then the _Zeus_' firepower and thick armor would prove their worth. _Which is a good thing,_ he thought sourly, as the foot of his machine sank nearly to the knee in the thick, gooey mud that surrounded Belgorod.

Moving forward slowly, he kept an eye on his sensors. A small blip popped up, and he grinned savagely, calling up his targeting computer. The machine beeped, and telemetry began to flow across a secondary monitor. Beeps sounded, and the indicator on the right side of his HUD indicated weapons readiness by turning every weapon indicator from red to green- Gauss rifle, medium pulse laser, extended range large laser, and finally the LRM-15 launcher.

The contact up ahead came closer, resolving into a star of hovercraft, and Stan clapped down the visor on his helmet, preparing himself to engage. They roared in, ready for a fight, and Stan gleefully obliged. His first target was an SM-1 tank destroyer; the speedy little craft carried a huge A/C 20, and could tear up even his thick armor. Carefully centering his reticule on the enemy machine, he fired the heavy Gauss rifle, sending its hypersonic slug sailing through the thin armor on a double helix of ghostly blue-green light.

The SM-1 blew apart, its ammunition super heated and detonating all at once, so Stan re-targeted on the next target, a JES Missile Carrier. It was festooned with short range missile packs, and it could devastate his 'Mech just as thoroughly as the SM-1. He flipped to the second target interlock, and fired, lancing laser fire into it. An engine shredded, and the whole thing smashed into the ground, plowing up a spray of semi-liquid mud before coming to a halt.

The three remaining vehicles, a trio of Condor heavy hover tanks, wheeled, stunned at the loss of their two compatriots. Their autocannons began to chatter, and LRMs poured forth. Stan slapped his throttles into reverse, and he got his _Zeus_ backing away from its previous line of motion. The LRMs, as he'd hoped, had no lock, and zipped away over the battlefield. The autocannons blasted at the tough armor, but did very little.

Stan carefully locked the LRM system on the right-most Condor, and fired. Without waiting to see what damage it took, he locked the lasers on the center vehicle, fired, noting a bright flash in the cockpit, and targeted the last vehicle with the Gauss Rifle; the three vehicles, mauled and burning, ran for it, skittering back the way they had come. Stan grinned tightly- not bad for a few seconds' work. Lifting his 'Mech's feet carefully out of the heavy, sucking mud, he turned his attention back north and moved forward, ready to engage the enemy once more.


	20. Chapter 20

_Countryside near Belgorod_

_Terra_

_Prefecture X_

_April 3134, Local spring_

At the exact time that Stan was engaging the Steel Wolf armor, Michael found himself slogging through mud three kilometers west, desperately trying to keep his machine moving forward. The thick, heavy mud complicated the one disadvantage of his _Hammerhands_ that he had never been able to compensate for- low speed. He was moving now at less than twenty five kilometers an hour, but his throttles were firewalled and his reactor was pouring off heat as though he were bolting across open ground at 54 kilometers per hour. This was going to be an incredibly difficult day.

Saving his jumpjets for when he'd need them in combat, Michael carefully opened his heat sinks, improved double versions, to their fullest extent, and prayed that his coolant would last the day. Approaching on his radar, he tracked a trio of large, slow moving targets- they had to be 'Mechs. Knowing full well that there were no friendly forces in this area that could take out a 'Mech easily, he moved his control stick slightly and opened a COM channel. "Control, this is Triarii One. I am moving to engage three 'Mechs, and I request support when it can be spared."

Michael nodded to himself and stepped his targeting computer into attack. There was a slight ridge ahead of his machine, and he guided his machine around it, not wanting to skyline himself for every artillery observer on the plain. Rounding the ridge, he swung his targeting reticule over the shapes resolved into a pair of modified MiningMechs and a single modified ForestryMech. The enemy machines all swung over in unison, and their small caliber autocannons began to chatter, stitching small pocks up his legs and sending up geysers of mud.

Michael carefully drew the reticule over the leading enemy 'Mech, brown and silver blending in nicely with the terrain. The reticule burned gold, and Michael stroked his trigger; 120mm shells flew from his cannons, and darts of crimson light erupted from his lasers. The enemy MiningMech staggered, huge rents appearing in its armor. It collapsed heavily into the mud, the holes smoking and glowing in the mud.

Its mates decided to try the flanking maneuver, and Michael cursed quietly. His heat level was spiking, the barrels of his autocannons steaming in the cold air. He was not happy to engage two brawlers like these, but it looked like that was the order of the day. He targeted the closest machine, the ForestryMech with the huge, armor grinding chainsaw in its right arm. Michael quickly selected the short-range missile rack, and stroked the trigger, splashing the enemy machine with burning jelly. The 'MechJock inside the ForestryMech was having none of that, and jerked his ejection handle, perhaps out of panic. He jetted away over the cold tundra, and the last 'Mech waded in around his fellow, obviously enraged by the use of inferno rounds- a rage that availed him nothing more than a full spread of heavy weapons fire from the _Hammerhands_. His 'Mech jerked, and the fire in the huge internal-combustion engine was stifled. The 'Mech crashed over backward into the mud and lay there, smoking and silent.

Michael shook his head and turned his 'Mech back toward the enemy lines. This was going to be a hell of a long day, all right. He checked his sensors, carefully analyzing the lay of the land. Launching a drone, he scanned the battlefield, looking for more targets. A line of heavy tracked vehicles were bogged down, and persistently firing on Highlanders. Smiling tightly, a predator's smile, Michael throttled up and advanced; it was time to put 75 tons of hardware where it could be the most useful.


	21. Chapter 21

_Countryside near Belgorod_

_Terra_

_Prefecture X_

_April 3134, Local spring_

Jarome carefully followed the instructions by the fire-control coordinator, and dialed in the coordinates. Launching two flights of missiles, she plastered the line of heavy vehicles pressing the Highlander infantry, raining destructive fire down on the enemy. She hated to be so far away from Mikayla, but this was vital work; without fast, accurate fire support, there were Highlanders who would die on the fields of Russia today.

The Steel Wolves were pressing hard today. There were modified industrial 'Mechs chopping swathes through the Highlanders, being countered by armor and artillery, and in places, by other modified industrial 'Mechs that wore the green and tartan of Northwind. Infantry was dueling with everything on the battlefield, fearlessly taking on anything that came close enough.

There was an abrupt squeal on the command frequency, and a breathless voice with a Northwind accent came over. "Triarii Two, this is Control. There's a whole lot of Steel Wolf hovercraft armor heading into our rear areas, and the Countess and the rest of the heavy armor can't get to them in time."

Jarome nodded, her mind racing. "Roger that, Control. If you'll vector me, I'll take them on and buy you enough time to get the heavy stuff on them." She activated her targeting computer once more, and opened a secondary COM channel to Mikayla. She was somewhere east of her, all the way at the right flank, hunting Steel Wolf 'Mechs that were trying to curve the flank. "Mikayla, are you out there?"

"Roger that, Jarome, I'm here," she replied, her voice scratchy and a little broken, victim to the Steel Wolf jamming. The Highlanders and Triarii had switched to a broadband frequency, so at least they had something to work with.

"Okay, Mikayla, I'm engaging a flanking unit of Steel Wolf armor. Watch yourself out there- if they're coming on the right, they'll be coming on the left as well." Jarome bit her lip lightly. "You be careful, baby girl. I'll see you when it's over."

"Roger that, Jarome," Mikayla's voice was raspy, and the roar of autocannon echoed through the COM channel. "I think I have found them." The COM channel dissolved into static, victim to the Steel Wolf jamming.

Jarome gritted her teeth and redirected her attention. She couldn't keep mooning over Mikayla like this- it was going to get her killed, and then there'd be no more BattleMech picnics, now would there? Scanning her instruments carefully, she punched up the C3 computer, and let the C3 Master Computer in the Highlander headquarters vehicle to feed her LRMs coordinates. Achieving lock on a target still over the visual horizon, she triggered the left missile rack, sending a flight of fifteen LRMs racing to the target. She received new coordinates, and fired the right-side launcher this time, trying to make her supply of missiles last longer. She fired again and again, the heat in her cockpit rising slowly, stabilizing at ninety degrees.

Cheers came over the artillery spotter's COM channel, and encouragements to keep the fire coming. She launched again and again, pulverizing the Steel Wolves rushing onward toward the vulnerable Highlander rear units. The observers called out a direction once more, and Jarome squeezed the trigger- and froze as the launcher bleeped out an ammunition expended alarm. She flipped the target interlock to the other launcher, and squeezed the trigger again- another alarm. "Oh," she whispered.

A column of five Condor tanks roared toward her at full speed, their LRM racks already tracking toward her. Their Autocannons began to spew fire and hardened slugs, and Jarome knew they were going to hit.

"Shit," Jarome finished, firewalling her throttle and jerking the _Catapult_ hard right. She sealed the missile launcher covers, hoping she'd still be alive long enough to need them, and engaged with her medium lasers. The crimson beams seared deep into her target, touching off a fierce blast of light as the lasers found the autocannon ammunition. The Condor tumbled, slinging parts and crew across the mud.

The victory was fleeting. All four Condors spewed missiles at her, pounding her machine mercilessly under sixty missiles. Armor shattered, and endo-steel warped and snapped. The right side missile launcher was blasted apart, and two lasers winked out of existence on her HUD as their housings were vaporized by the jets of molten copper spraying from the missiles. Jarome staggered heavily, fighting the searing neuro-feedback and the howling gyro to keep her 'Mech upright.

The fire from the Condors had shattered her ability to fight, and had devoured her armor, leaving her almost defenseless. A red light on her control panel warned her that her jump-jets had malfunctioned, tying her to the ground, and the red wire-frame on her secondary monitor told her that her 'Mech would not withstand another salvo like that. She wrapped her left hand around the ejection handle between her legs, and floated her cross hairs around a Condor, and pulled the trigger, launching hard red light from her remaining two lasers. Every second she fought, every second the Steel Wolves focused on her, was one more second bought for the Highlander techs, and medical people, and the mobile headquarters to evacuate, to beat the Steel Wolves.

The Condor jerked, as if surprised that a burning, shattered 'Mech was still on its feet, still fighting despite the terrible damage it had sustained. The tank's armor was seared, but the two lasers lacked the power to punch through. The four tanks buttonhooked hard, swinging around, their turret-mounted LRMs tracking her, ready to fire-

And were enveloped by heavy artillery fire and smashed by Gauss slugs and lasers. Over the ridgeline that had shielded the headquarters unit, a ragged line of M1Marksman and BE701 Joust tanks struggled up, their treads thrashing the heavy semi-liquid mud in fierce gouts. The Condors turned once more and ran, fleeing the unexpected onslaught, and Jarome sagged against her restraints, bathed in the heat and red glow of her cockpit. Sunlight poured through her canopy, and she grinned. She had done it- held out long enough for the Highlanders to bring up support.


	22. Chapter 22

_Countryside near Belgorod_

_Terra_

_Prefecture X_

_April 3134, Local spring_

Mikayla Nova Cat kept her _Cestus _moving forward, carefully moving her 'Mech's feet to keep them from sinking too far into the mud. She twitched, a Vision on the very edges of her awareness. She carefully pushed her Vision away, trying to focus on the fight developing in front of her. There were two Steel Wolf BattleMechs advancing on her position, and three Bellona Medium Tanks running forward of them. Carefully pulling up her targeting computer, she centered her gunsights on the lead tank, and fired, a ferrous slug slamming down the magnetic rails of her Gauss rifle. The slug streaked out on the characteristic ghostly blue-green helix, smashing the Bellona, flipping the 45-ton fighting vehicle completely over.

The second tank suffered a similar fate, and the third, despite its best efforts to maneuver, died when Mikayla snapped a shot with her twin Defiance large lasers. They seared through, and devastated the fast-moving machine utterly.

Mikayla brought her attention back to the enemy 'Mechs, and brought her 'Mech to a halt, venting heat from the sinks. Her cockpit temperature had spiked with the firing of the lasers, and she knew she'd need all the endurance she could scrape together for the fight to come.

Abruptly, staring at the enemy machines, a _Koshi_ and a _Griffin IIC, _Mikayla's sight dissolved, replaced by a Vision. A multi-headed hydra rushed at her, and she growled, slashing at it with a blade that was suddenly in her hand, severing one of the monster's heads. It snarled, and Mikayla glanced behind her, aware for the first time of a woman in a pristine Roman toga, lying surrounded by roses. _Not again, _Mikayla thought, horror rising in her.

The Vision abruptly changed, and suddenly she was watching over Jarome, in a clean white hospital room. Jarome wore a bandage over her cheek, and her dark hair was spread on the pillow behind her head. Mikayla gently stroked Jarome's hair back from her face. She was worried, truly worried, scared that Jarome might not pull through.

Her vision returned all in a rush, and Mikayla gasped, realizing that the _Koshi_ had been literally torn limb from limb, and the Griffin was burning fiercely, gaping holes torn in its hull. During her Vision, she had totally destroyed both enemy machines in a brutal display of pure, unbridled aggression. Dropping the _Koshi_ arm dangling from her 'Mech's right arm, she slammed her throttle forward, lunging through the mud, back toward the center of the line, and back to Jarome.

She stopped, her 'Mech sinking into the mud almost to the hips. She had a responsibility, not just to The Republic, or to the Countess of Northwind, but to Jarome. Jarome loved The Republic, had devoted her entire life to it. Devoting her life to being a soldier had been easy for Mikayla- as a Clan woman, she had been raised since birth to fight. Jarome devoting her life to The Republic had meant leaving behind her home, her friends, her- Mikayla struggled with the concept- _family_. Mikayla could not sacrifice such devotion. Turning her 'Mech back toward the enemy, she resolutely began to move forward- the only way to protect Jarome was to destroy the enemy before the enemy could destroy her.


	23. Chapter 23

_Countryside near Belgorod_

_Terra_

_Prefecture X_

_April 3134, Local spring_

A roar split the blue sky, and a pair of aerospace fighters ripped by overhead. Michael grinned and waved, knowing full well that the pilots couldn't possibly see him, but he didn't care. The fighters were painted green and dun- Highlander fighters. The Steel Wolves were evacuating the planet, running away from the fight. Glancing around, he smiled as he saw his small command grouped together, a sprinkling of Highlander uniforms mixed in with the burgundy and gray.

No Highlander uniform was more important than the one perched next to him on the knee of his _Hammerhands_. Slipping his arm over her shoulders, he smiled gently at Tara Bishop. "Well, Captain, it looks like we managed it once more. They're in full retreat."

Tara leaned in against Michael, her body shrouded in his field jacket. "It seems so, Michael my love. How're your lancemates doing?"

Michael looked down and grinned. "They're doing just fine. Sergeant Bryn snatched Stan clean out of his cockpit, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of them since. Mikayla's in the medbay, driving the medics insane. Jarome's wounds are very much minor, and she'll be released in about an hour, but Mikayla won't let her out of her sight. Said something about visions, and I left it at that. She acquitted herself brilliantly, and the gun-camera footage is beyond terrifying- she literally tore one 'Mech apart limb from limb and beat the other to pieces with an arm from the first." He stretched, his arms cracking loudly. "Her 'Mech will be in the repair bay for a while, but with the parts that Mikayla conveniently disassembled on the east flank, we've got plenty to repair it with. She suffered ninety one percent armor loss, and thirty percent internal structure destruction, and she kept fighting. She herself suffered two broken ribs and a mild concussion, but she destroyed three stars of enemy armor, and held a fourth in place long enough for supporting units to take them out. I'm putting her in for a commendation on that.

"Stan impressed me as well- not because of anything flashy, but because that _Zeus_ of his has more electrical faults than a downtown festival of lights parade in the rain. He kept it moving, and racked up eight vehicle kills and two 'Mech kills by himself. He says that talking to his machine while he's fighting helps; I don't know about that, but as long as he's happy, I'm happy." He sighed and leaned back against the hard armor of his 'Mech. "I'm just glad we're all still standing."

Tara snuggled tight against his chest, her powerful arms wrapping around him. "I am too. Are you-" she hesitated an instant- "are your Triarii staying with the Highlanders?"

Michael looked down, surprised. "Well, that depends on the Countess. She's the Prefect, and as such, she has full command of all Triarii forces available. And I do seem to remember putting in a request to that effect."

Tara grinned, her blonde hair picking up crimson highlights from the sunset. She leaned up and kissed him once, lingeringly. "That's good, Michael. I don't want you out of my sight."


End file.
